


Emergency Contact

by RueRambunctious



Series: Emergency Contact Universe [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Accents, Aftermath of Violence, Aliases, Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Assassins & Hitmen, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bad Soldier, Blasphemy, Bottom Jim Moriarty, Bottom Sebastian, Choking, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Crimes & Criminals, Domestic Fluff, Drunk Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Dysfunctional Family, Enemies to Lovers, Family Issues, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gun Kink, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Knifeplay, Language Kink, Living Together, Love/Hate, M/M, Murder Husbands, Non-Consensual Violence, Organized Crime, Prostitution, Restraints, Rimming, Scolding, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Spanking, Strangers to Lovers, Swearing, Sweet, Switching, Top Jim, Top Sebastian Moran, Topping from the Bottom, Torture, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Unrequited Hate, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Violence, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 21:43:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 75,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7987255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RueRambunctious/pseuds/RueRambunctious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian Moran's friends think buying him a whore is the perfect way to commiserate on his dishonorable discharge. When Moran is mistaken for the emergency contact of said young man, things might just become a little too real for both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Whore

After a disgrace with a tiger and a number of other perceived crimes, the errant son of Sir Augustus Moran has been discharged; dishonorably, although family money has at least managed to keep that part private, outside of the overgrown brat's inner circle.

This inner circle have been gambling and drinking well into the day, and night, in commiseration of Sebastian Moran's disgrace. Sebastian is a waste of the education received at Eton and Oxford, and the stinger is that he could have been Colonel material had he only managed to keep his distaste for authority in check.

Sebastian seems in no way contrite about any of that and instead seems to be following the example of his peers in the pursuit of inebriation.

They have been caught cheating and have been kicked out of an establishment barely scathed only due to Sebastian's less palatable connections. His friends treat it as a lark, perhaps not recognising the danger in their far from sober state.

Someone has suggested food, and that seems to be considered a favorable option by the majority, but the group do not seem to have much of a sense of direction, and get distracted by the emerging night life.

Sebastian notes a scruffy and slightly debauched looking teenager in a rumpled tracksuit eying their group speculatively.

“We should get Basher a whore!” someone exclaims, slurring and loud at what is technically still an early hour. Not even closing time yet.

The evident inebriation in the off-duty soldier's voice does not appear to be off-putting to the others. An amused, raucous chorus of agreement meets the ears of likely everyone in the vicinity. Before a sluggish Sebastian can protest, his friends are slapping together a bundle of notes, pushing them into his hand, and shoving him out of their straggling herd.

Sebastian manages not to stumble and turns back around to face his friends, protesting the unnecessary nature of their plan.

“Don't be shy Moran, you can choose ass over tits tonight if that's what you're after!” someone replies with more volume than Sebastian appreciates.

“Plough him, Basher!” someone else agrees.

Sebastian sighs and pivots, not needing to scan the nearby faces to know the frosty-looking little chav is the one he desires on this occasion.

The soldiers continue their silly, loud encouragements. Sebastian does his best to tune them out and pushes the money into his pocket. He approaches the young rent boy.

The boy is leaning against a wall, hands in the pockets of his thin jacket, and one foot tucked underneath himself. He looks cold physically and emotionally, but straightens up and takes his hands out of his pockets as Sebastian appears.

“How much?” 'Basher' asks without preamble.

The whore's eyes glitter calculatingly. “Just for you?” he asks in a surprising Irish lilt.

Sebastian agrees. A list of basic prices rattles off of the chav's tongue.

Sebastian's pocket is filled with significantly more than required. “And what about for the whole night?” he asks.

The younger man gives Sebastian an assessing look, but presumably accepts the idea of a night out of the cold, and voices a higher figure.

“My hotel's not far from here,” Sebastian announces in lieu of acceptance.

“Grand,” his future bed partner says dismissively. He stamps his feet lightly against the cold and follows Sebastian's lead.

“Do you need to tell anyone where you're going?” Sebastian asks.

The dark-haired boy gives him a sidelong look. “Your friends drew enough attention that the entire street will be watching where I go,” he replies.

Something in the boy's voice makes Sebastian think that the whore does not have a pimp, but it would hardly have been sensible to admit thus, so Sebastian does not press the matter.

The young man follows Sebastian into the hotel at a respectable distance, not highlighting their intentions.

Sebastian leads him to his sparse room and allows the brunet to close the door behind them, giving the youth a semblance of control over the situation.

The boy then steps inside and waits for directions. His cheeks are bitten by the harsh wind outside and he cannot quite repress the quivering of his body from his obvious coldness.

“Come here,” Sebastian says gruffly. The boy takes a step forwards, and stiffens when Sebastian pulls him close against Sebastian's own chest and wraps the whore in Sebastian's long jacket.

Sebastian flinches a bit at the chill of the rent boy's body.

“What are you doing?” the brunet asks.

“You're freezing,” Sebastian says bluntly. “I'm not.”

“I'll heat up when I get to work,” comes an Irish drawl from somewhere within Sebastian's coat.

“Humour me,” Sebastian responds, not pulling away until the rent boy feels almost room temperature. Breathing into cupped hands to warm them, Sebastian holds them against the other man's cheeks for a few moments.

He pulls away. “Better?” he asks.

The whore looks healthier, but not especially amused. “Now should I undress?” he asks.

Sebastian slips off his coat, placing it over the back of a chair. “Don't you have rules to tell me?” he asks.

The whore shrugs. “No mouth kissing, no marking my neck, no chopping me into little pieces.”

Sebastian chuckles. “Alright; I promise.”

The younger brunet seems tempted to roll his eyes but instead unzips his tracksuit jacket, dumping it on the floor quickly before pulling off his plain teeshirt.

Although thin, his body is not unattractive. Sebastian smirks at the boy and unbuttons his own shirt. The look the boy returns says less about relief at not being with an overweight old man and more unease at Sebastian's obvious strength.

“Top or bottom?” Sebastian asks.

The young man blinks at him, unused to the question. His hands freeze on his waistband and he asks, “What?”

That accent is rather pretty, and Sebastian wonders whether the reserved young man can become a talker if suitably stimulated. “Do you want to be on top or the bottom first?” Sebastian expands.

The brunet shrugs. “You're paying; you tell me.”

“We've got all night, so I thought I'd offer to start off as a gentleman,” Sebastian explains comfortably.

The boy kicks off his trainers and socks and pushes down his tracksuit bottoms. “How gracious,” he says a little mockingly.

Sebastian wonders how often the boy's biting tongue fetches his pert rear a good slap. He imagines the boy's yelps likely to be quite seductive, and Sebastian smirks as he reaches into his pocket and pulls a strip of condoms from his wallet.

Sebastian tosses them onto the bed and notes that the boy's gait sags a little in relief. Presumably not all of his clients are as easy on safe sex.

Sebastian finishes undressing and joins the teen, nudging him towards the bed lightly. “Get on all fours and I'll get you started,” Sebastian suggests.

The whore barely looks at him, but obeys with a haughty expression.

Sebastian smirks and settles behind him, spreading the boy's cheeks quickly and giving a broad lick just to hear the brunet gasp.

Sebastian chuckles softly and presses kisses into the back of the nearby thighs. “Gotta have you relaxed before I prepare you,” he teases.

The brunet squirms as Sebastian's hot breath approaches his passage again. “I can prepare myself,” he offers.

Sebastian gives him another lick, then blows cool breath on the wet skin. The fine hairs on the rent boy's body rise at the sensation. “I think you'll find this better,” Sebastian teases. The young man feels him smile against his vulnerable skin.

Sebastian alternates moments of kissing the quivering thighs surrounding him with licking and sucking at the whore's entrance. The brunet wriggles and huffs, but does not bother to protest again.

Sebastian can hear the boy's breathing changing, becoming more ragged, and as much as Sebastian would like to have the reserved young man mewling and pleading, this will certainly do as a start.

The brunet's hips are starting to buck under Sebastian's ministrations, and his toes wriggle.

“Are you still sure you'd rather prepare yourself?” Sebastian teases, his breath tickling the brunet's wet skin.

“Yes,” the boy retorts, and gasps as Sebastian lightly bites his thigh.

Sebastian tuts. “What a little liar.”

He flips the young man over, exposing the boy's obvious pleasure, and licks a long string of precum from the whore's leaking cock.

The boy's cheeks are flushed, but he has the audacity to roll his eyes.

“I should leave you hard and aching,” Sebastian scolds, but he dips his head and sucks on the whore lightly, swirling his tongue around the tip.

The brunet squirms and pants, but gives Sebastian a mistrustful look.

Sebastian lets go with a pop of his reddened lips. He leans up, licking the boy's chest teasingly, and pulls open the beside drawer, pulling out a bottle of lubricant with foreign writing. He hasn't been back in the UK long and Sebastian had been in little doubt that he would be taking _someone_ home.

The brunet catches his breath as Sebastian rips open the plastic, and a vaguely exotic smell meets their nostrils as Sebastian squirts some lube into his large hand.

The brunet waits, not quite meeting Sebastian's amused gaze as the older young man rubs the goo between both hands to warm it.

“Ready?” Sebastian asks softly.

The brunet huffs and looks away a bit, but slides his hips closer.

Sebastian chuckles. “Still not very friendly, are you?” he mocks. He reaches down and gently strokes the swirl of the rent boy's passage, thrilling at how the boy gasps at the chill and the presence.

Sebastian continues to stroke, adding more gloop until the whore is slippery and relaxed. The legs against Sebastian's shoulders finally feel warm.

Sebastian scoots closer and licks the length of the brunet's member, catching the end carefully in his mouth and starting to suckle reassuringly as he slowly begins to slide one finger inside the brunet's coiled heat.

The brunet gasps, looking flushed and alive, and Sebastian isn't entirely sure which action caused the utterance. Sebastian continues both ministrations to be sure, then carefully adds more lube, leaning uncomfortably on one elbow.

The brunet licks his lips and quietly asks for more.

Sebastian pulls back his head. “Are you sure?” he asks, his lips shining and red.

The brunet makes a noise that suggests he is not quite above keening but is trying his best not to.

“Fine, fine,” Sebastian answers, giving the boy's leaking tip a kiss then pulling back to carefully lube up and add a second finger.

The boy makes a swift intake of breath, and breathes shallowly as Sebastian slowly scissors his fingers within.

“Better?” Sebastian asks.

The young man gives the tiniest of nods, and Sebastian gives him a smile before returning his head to the brunet's genitals.

The reward is a string of breathy noises. The brunet bucks his hips pointedly when he desires the next finger, and Sebastian obeys in a similar manner.

“I'm ready,” the brunet says at last.

“You are not,” Sebastian retorts, lifting his head and frowning. “If I start you sore you're going to really be feeling it by the end of the night.”

The young man's gaze flickers as though he knows Sebastian is right, but mutters, “I can take it.”

“You will take what you're damn well told,” Sebastian retorts. He pulls back yet again and adds more lube to his hand, easing in four fingers.

The brunet shivers at the cold and squirms at the uncomfortable tightness, doing his best to adjust quickly.

“See, I told you that you weren't ready,” Sebastian lectures, rocking his hand slowly in the tight heat to brush the brat's prostate.

The young man very almost keens then, and Sebastian grins. He continues stroking for a while then reaches for more lube and coats his thumb.

The brunet gives him a confused look. “What..?”

“If I know you can take my hand then I know you'll be fine to take my cock,” Sebastian explains.

“I don't need that; I'm ready,” the brunet states calmly.

Sebastian eases inside gently. “No need to rush, is there?”

The brunet rolls his hips gently. “No,” he agrees.

Sebastian plays with the boy for a bit longer then eventually gives him a smirk. “Now I think you might be ready,” he purrs.

The whore rolls his brown eyes and bucks his hips encouragingly.

Sebastian reaches back for a condom, ripping the foil open with his teeth and sliding it on. He eases his other, more occupied, hand out slowly and liberally coats his dick. He also coats the brunet's ring again and the young man rolls his eyes, glad that it's a new, full bottle as his client seems to think the whole thing is only meant to last one night.

“I saw that,” Sebastian growls teasingly, catching the brunet's gaze for a moment before glancing down to line himself up carefully.

“And?” the whore asks petulantly, the question softened by the blush of his cheeks and the way his dark lashes flutter.

Sebastian glances back up again, trailing his gaze from the young man's face to the rise and fall of the pale chest, to lower still. Pushing up against the warm ring of muscle, Sebastian does not feel he needs a verbal response.

The brunet hisses, tensing then consciously untensing. Sebastian kisses along the nearest expanse of white flesh soothingly.

The whore makes a noise that might have been a whimper had it been loud enough to tell. Sebastian stays very still. “Tell me when to move,” he says kindly.

The brunet gives him a glance from under half-lidded eyes that might have been gratitude if his features didn't stray so naturally to distrust.

Sebastian waits, the rise and fall of chest reminding the teen just how broad and physically powerful the slightly older man inside him is.

The whore tenses further, but slowly forces himself to ease closer, hoping 'Basher' will stay still.

Surprisingly, he does. The young man wriggles up and down experimentally, and although Sebastian groans, he diligently remains still.

“You… you can move,” the young rent boy says charitably.

Sebastian lets out a moan of relief over the brunet's slightly scarred shoulder and does so, moving slowly and deeply.

The brunet curls his fingers into the sheets and leans further into the contact.

“Yes?” Sebastian asks.

“Yes,” the young man clarifies.

Sebastian picks up the pace a little, and the brunet can tell from the careful touches along his body that 'Basher' could be a lot more forceful if he liked. He is unsure whether to be relieved or not.

Sebastian licks along the back of the smaller man's ear playfully. “Rolling your eyes again?” he asks a beat later.

The brunet's lips curl a little and it shows in his voice as he mutters, “Perhaps.”

Sebastian lets out a small laugh, heating the exposed skin before him. The brunet does not recoil, rolling his hips steadily.

Sebastian slides both his hands around to the brunet's angular hips. “Can I..?” he asks.

“Stop asking, start doing,” the brunet huffs. Unperturbed by being pulled closer and the increased violence of the thrusts, the whore continues, “No wonder you need to pay for it if you ask questions all the time.”

Sebastian laughs aloud, amused. “You talk to all your customers like that?” he asks, giving a hard enough snap of his hips to make the brunet's voice catch.

“Only the hopeless ones,” the boy responds tartly.

Sebastian snorts and lightly slaps the whore's delectable rear, which the young man doesn't seem to mind much. “Get much repeat custom?” he asks.

“Do you get many complaints for 'not as described', Basher?” the brunet counters.

Sebastian laughs so hard he actually stops thrusting. The rent boy starts to look around, but does not quite meet the other man's eyes.

“I'm fairly drunk and want to make sure I don't hurt you,” Sebastian explains candidly. He raises his rough hand from a bony hip to the brunet's short, dark hair. Pulling it with moderate harshness, Sebastian asks, “You like it a bit rougher do you?”

A hiss comes in response.

Sebastian bites lightly on the chords of the boy's neck, careful of leaving bruising, and yanks the brunet so close he cries out.

“Don't blame me when you're sore tomorrow,” Sebastian warns in a low, seductive voice that sends chills down the young man.

Sebastian pulls out and quickly flips the brunet over, impaling him again before he can draw breath.

The rent boy gives him a wide eyed look, but Sebastian simply puts his large hands on those hips again and says softly, “Put your arms around my neck.”

The young man gives a mildly questioning look but obeys, feeling a little disconcerted by the more intimate proximity.

Sebastian stands, taking the brunet's weight, but letting it drop enough that all the younger man can feel is full.

“Good?” Sebastian asks.

The young whore blinks and nods.

Sebastian starts to snap his hips heavily, raising and dropping the brunet onto his dick with force, his thumbnails turning visibly white from his grip.

The brunet thinks he might just develop bruises on his hips but cannot bring himself to mind. Besides, he doesn't bruise easily there. Leaving back as though on a swing, the young man feels a strange mixture of free and contained.

And Sebastian is fucking him at such force that he might just scream, without the older guy even seeming to find the exertion taxing.

“Basher indeed,” the rent boy says breathlessly.

Sebastian laughs again, and increases his pace to breakneck speed just to show off.

The brunet cannot catch his breath, and his prostate has never been so ravaged in his life. He starts to exclaim in a strangled sort of scream, and then he's cumming, and he can't tell the actions apart, and this Basher person keeps on going like a piece of strong machinery.

Sebastian is delighted, but cannot spend much time feeling smug. The increased speed is making it hard to hold back and the brat is tight to begin with, clenching harder as he spasms, and it's not long before the brunet is filled with a sensation of warm, wet heat.

Sebastian steps quickly towards the bed, knowing his legs won't stay reliable for long. He drops them both down, not pulling away from the brunet immediately as the boy's arms are still around his neck.

The rent boy seems to notice and lets go, lying down and blinking up at the ceiling. Sebastian lies for a moment, finally panting and showing that he is not superhuman, then turns and asks, “How long do you need?”

The whore blinks again and stretches out reluctantly, preferring to rest. “I can take another pounding now if you like.”

Sebastian chuckles a little incredulously. “That wasn't enough of a bashing for you?”

The brunet wriggles his hips, considering. “I'll live,” he surmises.

“I should hope so,” Sebastian comments. He removes the used condom, ties the end, and lobs it with skill into the bin. “I'm not done with you yet.”

The young man sits up, urging away his tiredness. “Have at it.”

Sebastian's lips quirk. “I think it's your turn, Sasslips.”

The brunet rolls his eyes yet again. “Give me a moment,” he says, waiting before reaching for the slippery bottle of lube.

“No rush,” Sebastian says in almost a singsong voice, “we've got all night.”

“You don't sleep?” the young man teases, squirting out a handful of cold goo.

Sebastian eyes him suspiciously, “If that's a wisecrack about my age, brat, you're not too old for a spanking.”

“Like I'm frightened,” the brat drawls. “Spread 'em.”

Sebastian obeys easily, moving his strong legs apart.

The brunet prepares Sebastian swiftly and efficiently, but with less gentleness. The whore knows he could drag out the process to give himself more recovery time, but he finds himself slightly eager.

If Sebastian notices, he wisely doesn't comment. Instead he winces a little, squirming at the brunet's touch.

“I can't stick my fingers in your arse if you move it away,” the whore scolds.

“It's been a while,” Sebastian retorts. “Take it easy.”

Sebastian wonders if the boy gets dizzy from all the eye rolling, but relaxes a little as the rent boy eases up with his ministrations.

The brunet reaches for another foil square, unwrapping it carefully. Rolling on the protection, he gazes over Basher's body, at the military tattoos, the inked scope, cards and Indian tiger. The tiger looks expensive and well done, but unlike most men Basher hasn't bragged about any of his artwork.

“Move your legs up,” the whore intones.

Sebastian obeys, feeling a bit stupid and exposed, but shortly the other man is pressing against him and that is all Sebastian can think about.

It burns. It hurts worse than Sebastian remembers, as it always does, and then eventually the feeling shifts and he feels less like he wants to cry. The brunet waits, and Sebastian pushes further against his dick stubbornly, wincing.

“Can't take a bashing?” the rent boy teases.

Sebastian looks him coolly in the eye and Sebastian might have hit the brat if there wasn't a throbbing cock joining them intimately.

The young man knows it, smirking, and rolls his hips rhythmically.

Sebastian considers forgiveness, despite that look that needs smacked off the brat's face, and leans into the contact approvingly.

The whore frowns a little as he thrusts, as though pursuing his own pleasure takes concentration. Without a word he puts a hand under Sebastian's leg and moves it to his shoulder. Sebastian moves his other leg up against the side of the brunet's neck too, and mewls, lips quivering, as the whore reaches further within him.

The brunet's lips twist mockingly at the noise, but Sebastian does not care, because this was certainly a good idea.

The brunet's hands move to Sebastian's shoulders and he fucks with far more force than Sebastian would have expected from that meagre, wiry frame.

“More,” Sebastian rasps.

The brunet gives him a mildly surprised look, but moves one hand to Sebastian's throat, using a careful pressure, and pushes Sebastian flat onto his back. Sebastian reaches up, pulling the young man closer. The air between them is warm and their skin is misted in sweat and the frosty brat's breath is hot enough on Sebastian's skin to almost burn.

Sebastian curls his legs tighter around the whore encouragingly and the brunet might just pound Sebastian's pelvis to dust if he keeps up with that punishing speed. Sebastian can feel a burning in his stomach and legs and wonders whether he will be able to unpretzel himself afterwards.

The brunet seems like he might just have noticed the discomfort, because he eases off for just a second to place a mild bite into the muscle of Sebastian's leg. Sebastian has never thought of biting as reassuring before, but this is, and he pulls the rent boy so close they might just meld together.

The brunet's breathing suggests he could quite easily go all night, but he can tell that Sebastian is sore and reaches down into the narrow heat between them to locate Sebastian's weeping cock.

Sebastian's hips jerk in surprise, but he moans enthusiastically and cannot quite understand how the brunet's hips can keep up their punishing pace whilst his arm is racing fast enough between them that Sebastian might never find satisfaction in his own grip ever again.

The brunet gives Sebastian a knowing look and mutters something teasing into Sebastian's ear. Sebastian tries to twist his open mouth to shape words in reply, but the brunet shifts his angle and suddenly the middle of Sebastian's vision is white and his grip flounders and the brunet does it again and _fuck_!

The whore chuckles breathily as a burning liquid coats his chest, dripping and smearing between them as he continues to thrust, dropping his hand and smearing it on the sheets so he can use both for extra leverage. Sebastian feels the brunet start to race for completion and thinks he might just die.

The brunet finishes, and Sebastian has never felt anything so right in his life and is perfectly certain that he is painted in bruises.

Gasping, the brunet removes himself and rolls off of Sebastian.

“Good job,” says Sebastian from somewhere that might not even be his mouth. His voice sounds rather far away.

The young whore sniggers lightly in response and lies flat on the mattress, sweat making the sheets unpleasantly sticky, but feeling too drained to care.

Sebastian breathes heavily and listens to his hammering heart slowly return to calm.

The brunet's stomach protests loudly as they lie together in their a blissful haze. The brunet shifts slightly, giving his body a disparaging look.

Sebastian could quite do with food himself actually.

“Time for a munch then?” Sebastian announces, pulling himself up and reaching for the room service menu.

The whore makes a noise that might be agreement.

“Would you rather go down to the restaurant?” Sebastian asks. “It's open all night.”

The brunet makes a disparaging face, which relieves Sebastian as he doesn't want to get up, dress, or be near people either.

“Pick something substantial,” Sebastian declares, handing over the menu. “You've had a fair workout and you don't have the fat to spare.”

Sebastian flicks the boy lightly in the forehead when those eyes roll.

The whore points coolly to a meal and Sebastian nods, picking up the phone and calling it in.

“What do you want to drink?” Sebastian asks.

The rent boy considers quickly. “Orange,” he answers.

Sebastian nods and repeats this into the mouthpiece.

He puts down the phone and lies on his stomach, eying the young man beside him speculatively.

“What name do you go by?” Sebastian asks. 

The brunet is silent for a minute. “Arty,” he says at last. 

“Like Articus?” Sebastian asks dubiously, thinking the name more than a mouthful for a council estate. 

“Like Banksy,” Arty response with a sniff. He sits up and removes the condom, standing and carrying it to the bin. Sebastian gathers up the bits of foil, folds them together to make them more aerodynamic, and lobs them into the bin after it.

The lube coating his ass is gluing the sheets to him and it is bloody uncomfortable. Sebastian peels himself away and walks stiffly to the bathroom, his legs feeling like lead and jelly all at once. He grabs a small towel and wipes himself off.

Sebastian pads back through to the bedroom and holds the towel aloft. “You want to clean yourself up?” he asks.

The brunet's lips curl and he indicates the smeared white spatters making his chest shine in the light. “I think we both need a shower,” he responds.

Sebastian laughs, “Yeah, but I can wait until I've had food.”

Arty nods, appearing less haughty than usual. “Yes.”

Sebastian lumbers through and uses the towel to give the rent boy a quick wipe down anyway. The brunet squirms but does not bother to move away, and Sebastian teasingly makes a kissing sound before dumping the towel away.

There is a knock on the door. They look at each other in surprise.

“I didn't realise that much time had passed,” Sebastian admits.

Arty stretches a little and makes the barest effort to cover himself with a cornet of the ravished sheets. “The kitchen's probably quiet just now so there's less of a wait,” he surmises. “Respectable people are asleep.”

Sebastian makes a disparaging noise, obtaining his boxers and pulling them on awkwardly before answering the door.

A young woman waits in the hall with a trolley. She's pretty, with a wavy blonde ponytail and slightly amused lips. 

She carries in the food and waits for Sebastian to check the order is correct. Her eyes linger on them both as Sebastian tips and dismisses her.

“I think she'd have liked to watch,” Arty comments dryly as Sebastian brings their food over.

“I'm too old for a threesome,” Sebastian grumbles, looking far more interested in the food.

“You're not even thirty,” Arty comments, unfolding the napkin from around his cutlery.

“I am very much less than thirty, thank you,” Sebastian retorts.

The brunet smirks mockingly and pulls his warm plate towards himself. “It would have cost you extra anyway.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, and makes an amused noise at the disparaging look Arty gives him.

Arty looks away and ignores him, devouring his meal before it has much chance to cool.

Sebastian feels like he has sobered up considerably, but the idea of wolfing his food does not appeal to him. He eats slowly, chewing thoughtfully as he watches Arty.

“My arse is killing me,” Sebastian comments blithely, not bothering to move from a sitting position as he eats.

“Poor Basher,” Arty responds with clearly false sympathy.

Sebastian chuckles at his brattiness and takes another mouthful. They eat in companionable silence for a while, them Arty places his plate on the trolley.

“Is it alright if I go shower?” he asks.

“Knock yourself out,” Sebastian agrees cheerfully. “I'm too full to offer to join you.”

Arty laughs, sounding unusually sincere, but maybe that's just the full belly, and disappears into the bathroom.

Sebastian puts away his plate and flops down onto the disgusting bed. He aches and feels rather pleased with himself. His stomach gurgles merrily as it processes food. 

Sebastian strokes his stomach and half dozes in his sated state. He looks up mildly as Arty pads back through to the room, his short, dark hair sticking up in wet spikes.

“You look clean,” Sebastian comments lazily.

“You sound stupid,” Arty responds lightly.

“I don't care; I have had a very good night,” Sebastian says contentedly. He stretches out like a big cat on the bed. He asks, “Are you staying?”

“What?” the brunet asks.

Sebastian points sluggishly at the window, indicating the rain outside. “Your money's in my trouser pocket whenever you want to go, but you're welcome to sleep here if you don't want to go out in that.”

Arty considers, then drops his towel and strides towards the bed. “I don't cuddle,” he assets sternly.

“I make no promises,” Sebastian replies smugly, but moves over to give the other boy room.

The brunet notes that Basher has silently volunteered to sleep in the majority of the wet patches, and climbs in slowly.

Sebastian reaches for the duvet, which is slightly on the bottom of the bed and mostly on the floor. He shakes it a little then pulls it up over himself and Arty. As Sebastian fusses he connects with the brunet's icy feet, which Arty pulls away quickly.

“How are you so cold?” Sebastian exclaims. “You've just showered.”

Arty shrugs. “I never retain heat.”

“Well unlike you, you snake, I'm a radiator, so you might as well put your feet on me,” Sebastian offers.

Arty gives Sebastian a skeptical look, not much inclined to take up the offer, but he is cold and he could do with a good night's sleep. “Fine,” he mutters.

Sebastian flinches a little at the cold touch, but scoots over more so more of his body heat radiates the whore's way.

“G'night, Arty,” Sebastian says mildly, settling down to sleep.

“Goodnight Basher,” the brunet responds.

“Sebastian,” the other man murmurs, sounding half asleep already.

Arty gazes at him quietly, a strange expression on his face, then rolls over and closes his eyes.


	2. The Morning After

Sebastian Moran wakes to a small frame trying to escape from under his muscular arm. He apologies sleepily, removing his heavy limb, and blinks as he assesses the pale, thin body and dark hair.

Arty.

Memories of the night surge back, and amidst the remaining contented feeling Sebastian notes that he's quite sore. His lips curl into a smile.

He's also not hungover, which is a welcome bonus.

“Good morning,” Sebastian greets comfortably.

The brunet slides out of the bed and starts to gather his meager belongings quickly. “Morning,” he says briskly.

The weather outside is typically British, which means to say it has progressed from the heavy rain of last night into a full blown storm. It is loud, reminding Sebastian of Indian monsoons.

India makes him think of his family in a roundabout way, and the hush money Sir Augustus has thrown Sebastian's way over the discharge.

Sebastian had not planned to use it, but it gives him a twinge of vindictive pleasure to think how appalled his father would be for the money to be used on someone like Arty.

“I noticed a cash machine in the lobby,” Sebastian announces conversationally.

Arty grunts, pulling on his scruffy striped tracksuit bottoms, but his sharp eyes show he is listening.

“How do you feel about spending the whole day in bed?” Sebastian asks.

Arty considers. He is always wary of clients getting too attached, but it's easy enough money in a safe, warm, dry environment. “I could be persuaded.”

“An extra two hundred sweeten it?” Sebastian asks.

Arty blinks, almost drops his shoe, but coolly pretends to consider. “Seems fair,” he says after a beat.

Sebastian smiles. It's not like he can't make the money back playing cards at the Bagatelle Club anyway. “Give me a minute and then I'll get up.”

“You sleep late for military,” the brunet comments, leaving his shoes and returning to the edge of the bed.

“Drunk, well fucked and well fed,” Sebastian states.

“You're welcome,” Arty sneers comfortably.

Sebastian laughs and pulls himself out of bed, limping towards the bathroom. The brunet’s gaze follows him.

Sebastian performs his ablutions quickly, strangely desirous of the sarcastic teen's company.

“You want breakfast?” Sebastian asks. “I need to go downstairs anyway so we could eat at the restaurant if you wanted.”

The brunet’s face suggests he likes the idea of food, but looks down at his appearance and smirks pointedly.

“There's clothes in the closet,” Sebastian says. 

Arty makes a mocking face at the admission that Sebastian hangs up his clothing in hotels.

“Less wrinkles,” Sebastian says, his lips twisted in wry amusement. “Come on, I'll show you.”

“The lack of creases?” Arty comments, raising his brows mockingly.

“Brat,” Sebastian replies comfortably. He pulls out his tightest shirt and a pair of suit trousers. “See if your legs are long enough for these.”

“I'm not exactly tall,” the brunet states, but slides off of the mattress onto his bare feet and saunters over.

He pulls his top over his head unselfconsciously and takes the shirt. It is a little large, but it's passable, and Arty rolls the sleeves up neatly.

Sebastian watches the brunet push down his bottoms, and the sight of the young man in nothing but Sebastian's shirt sends heat running to his groin.

But fair's fair. Payment and breakfast first. Then Sebastian is going to bring Arty back upstairs and rip those clothes from his wiry frame.

The clothes don't quite fit, making Arty seem like some fresh young office intern, maybe an accountant, but his straight shoulders suggest he's going to grow into someone of import. It's a mesmerising sight.

Sebastian pulls his gaze away and organises an outfit for himself. It's not going to be worn for long, but Sebastian picks out something clean anyway, because yesterday's clothes were beyond salvaging long before they were strewn across the room last night.

Arty pulls on yesterday's socks and his trainers. The hem of the suit trousers bunch a little with extra length over the casual shoes, and it's cute in a way that turns up the corners of Sebastian's mouth.

The brunet’s own lips purse and he gives Sebastian a mild glare as though he has read the older man's mind.

Sebastian looks away, smiling, and reaches for yesterday's trousers. He pulls last night's payment from the pocket and hands it to Arty easily.

Arty counts it quickly and Sebastian waits with a smile at the door. Arty trots over to join him and they take the lift down to the lobby.

Sebastian leads them to the cash machine and Arty pulls back a little, waiting politely like a mild little brother. Withdrawing enough for the brunette and food, Sebastian is not oblivious to the behaviour, or how it has the nearby staff fooled, giving them pleasant smiles free of judgement.

Sebastian pockets a fraction of the money obviously, but curls the rest into his hand. He passes the payment to Arty as they approach the restaurant, pausing at a placard declaring unimpressive food options in cheerful print.

Arty takes it quietly, and they walk into the restaurant together. It's busier than the hotel seemed last night, but it's still quiet enough.

It's strange to eat in public together. Last night Arty had devoured his meal like he had not had one in a while, but here he does his best to mirror Sebastian's well-trained table manners.

It feels a little ridiculous to care when most people are staring blearily over their cereal for their rubbish coffees, but the grace with which Arty mirrors Sebastian makes the older man ponder what is in the whore's future.

Arty still does not seem sold on small talk, but he has a whole lot of money in his pockets and he's wearing clothes he hasn't slept in, so he's in a reasonably good humour.

Sebastian kicks him lightly under the table just to see what the boy will do.

Arty startles for a moment, then gives an unexpectedly childish laugh. He throws his scrunched napkin at Sebastian and seems uncharacteristically relaxed.

As they get up to leave Sebastian notices they have caught the eye of the blonde from last night. He looks around to Arty and realises the young man is already aware.

The young woman is certainly not fooled by their brotherly performance, and the way she trails her eyes over them suggests she has not forgotten what they look like in their state of undress either.

Feeling playful, Sebastian walks over to her. Arty follows quickly, his brows knotting slightly in skepticism.

The staff member gives them a wide smile and greets them professionally.

Sebastian starts to charm her, and the young brunette is definitely rolling his eyes behind Sebastian's back, but Arty freezes as Sebastian speaks.

“Do you know if there's a belt in lost property we can borrow until check out?” 

Arty flicks his gaze between the ponytailed blonde and his client with interest.

She gives them a smile that would have Sebastian taking her to bed if he wasn't already having so much fun with his whore. Sebastian is not as adverse to threesomes as he suggested earlier, but he gets the feeling from the tenseness of Arty's gait that the boy does not like the idea.

“Studded or leather?” the girl asks.

Sebastian gives Arty a teasing smirk (partly also for the blonde's benefit) but Arty gets the feeling the belt has nothing to do with the looseness of the suit trousers around his waist. Sebastian answers, “I think leather will be enough for today.”

“Come with me, sirs,” the young woman says, with only a sliver of a conspiratorial smirk to mar her professionalism.

She leads them to a desk and disappears through a door, returning quickly with a thick leather belt that makes Arty's stomach hurt. “No marks, remember?” he whispers to Sebastian.

Sebastian leans low so that his lips brush Arty's ear. “Who said it's for use on you?” he teases.

The brunet’s eyes widen and he gives Sebastian a searching look before conceding.

Sebastian takes the belt gracefully, tips the girl again just to see her pretty smile, and herds his brunet upstairs.


	3. The Belt

Arty seems nervous in the lift, fidgeting a little out of time with the bland elevator music.

Sebastian slings his arm lightly around the brunet's shoulders and feels relief when Arty does not shrug them off.

“Hey,” Sebastian says softly. “I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable down there… I honestly don't intend to hurt you.”

“I'm fine,” Arty says curtly.

“You don't have to lie for my benefit,” Sebastian says softly. “Do you want me to let you go?”

Arty's gaze flickers to Sebastian and away again before his expression can be read. “You're paying to touch me,” Arty says coolly.

“No; I'm paying for your company and time,” Sebastian counters. “I don't have to touch you if you'd rather I didn't.”

“You didn't seem short of friends last night,” Arty says indifferently.

Sebastian shifts on his feet. “That's different,” he asserts, but he doesn't explain how.

“Not much point in paying for a whore and not making use of him,” says Arty stiffly.

Sebastian looks down for a moment. He admits, “I only booked the extra night here because I didn't expect to be sober enough for check out. And… I don't really want to go home. Your company is a bonus.”

“Expensive one,” Arty comments, swallowing.

“I can make more money,” Sebastian shrugs. “And I don't have anything more important to spend it on.”

The lift dings, alerting them to their floor. Both young men shift their weight, but Arty does not pull away as the doors open.

They walk to their room in silence. Sebastian pulls his arm away to pull out the key card, his other hand still carrying the leather belt.

Arty waits, standing awkwardly like a discarded doll or drained robot, his expression unreadable.

Sebastian pushes the door open and steps aside to offer Arty entry.

The brunet steps inside without making eye contact.

“Undress,” Arty demands.

Sebastian freezes, palm outstretched to close the door. “Pardon?”

“Get undressed,” Arty repeats firmly.

Sebastian does not close the door, keeping the brunet’s route of escape open. “Why?”

Arty spins and strides towards Sebastian. “Because this is what I know how to do,” the brunet snaps, reaching for Sebastian's buttons.

Sebastian forces himself to stay still. “Are you completely sure about this?” he asks.

“You weren't complaining last night,” Arty points out archly.

“I didn't put my foot in it last night,” Sebastian adds dryly.

The brunet’s eyes pierce Sebastian but stay incomprehensible. Arty's hands make quick work of the shirt buttons as Sebastian's chest rises and falls quickly underneath. “Make it up to me,” Arty challenges.

Sebastian closes the door, drops the belt, and lifts Arty off of his feet. Sebastian carries Arty over to the bed freshly changed in their absence and drops him down lightly.

“I've wanted to undress you from the moment I saw you in my shirt,” Sebastian confesses, pulling off Arty's trainers and reaching for the boy's waistband.

The trousers are loose and with a bit of helpful wriggling from Arty Sebastian manages to simply pull them right off.

Arty sits on the bed in his socks and Sebastian's shirt. He looks delectable and the cool smirk on his lips is debauched.

Sebastian tugs off his open shirt and reaches for his fly, his trousers already spotted from his arousal. Here's hoping that dries in a more subtle shade. Sebastian pulls his trousers off and kicks off his dress shoes, but allows his damp boxers to remain in case Arty changes his mind.

“Make it up to you, you said?” Sebastian says seductively, mounting the bed and swinging Arty around by his white thigh.

Arty lets out a huff of air, but watches Sebastian through interested eyes as Sebastian reaches for the shirt's hem and pushes it up, lowering his mouth to press kisses all around Arty's groin.

Arty squirms and scoots down on the bed. Closer.

Sebastian licks and nips at delicate skin lightly, laving his tongue right across Arty's balls. His breath is warm and teasing.

Arty grips Sebastian's shorn blonde hair and pulls it pointedly towards his cock.

“Oh, so I'm doing a good job so far?” Sebastian teases, taking the brunet in hand.

“Stop torturing me and show me you're sorry already,” Arty says sourly, not removing his fist.

Sebastian obeys with a smile, using the arousal dripping from Arty's tip to facilitate a more lubricated grip of the young man's shaft.

Arty makes an approving noise.

Sebastian lowers his lips to the warm skin, encasing Arty in burning, wet heat. Knowing when not to tease, Sebastian coordinates a firm, fast motion with his hand and mouth, his stubbled cheeks hollowing.

Arty gasps and kicks out his heels, pushing his hips into the motion. He can feel Basher smiling around his dick but makes no sardonic retort, merely wrapping his fingers further in the short hair.

Sebastian continues diligently, leaning up on his strong thighs and using his freed hand to fondle Arty's wet balls.

Arty hums encouragingly. The approval pleases Sebastian and he increases his speed, feeling further gratified by the soft pants that fall from the brunet’s lips.

Arty suddenly swings his other hand up to join the other gripping Sebastian's skull tightly, and the rocking of his hips intensifies to hard thrusts that make Sebastian's eyes water a little. Sebastian lowers his head further into the onslaught, determined to please.

The skin between Arty's hips starts to heat and tingle, blood rushing underneath the skin feeling like electricity to Sebastian's fingertips.

Arty cums then, grabbing Sebastian harshly as he fucks the older man's throat. Sebastian feels jet after jet of warmth coat the back of his neck and swallows obediently. He laps Arty's tip with his tongue, coaxing out the last drops and making Arty squirm with hypersensitivity.

It occurs to Sebastian that he has just swallowed a whore's pleasure, completely forsaking protection.

Sebastian pushes down the small, shrill sliver of panic, telling himself that he'll visit a clinic later. Arty looks pleased, and right now that's enough.

“So what did you want to do with the belt?” Arty asks.

Sebastian blinks at him. “We don't have to-”

“Shut up,” Arty grumbles, not unkindly. “My legs are still weak; go get it.”

Sebastian leaves the bed reluctantly and retrieves the brown strip of leather. Arty snatches it lightly as Sebastian approaches the bed, folding it over and eyeing Sebastian with a dangerous speculation that makes Sebastian's cock twitch.

“So how do you like it?” Arty asks. He is sitting up, some of the shirt buttons undone or perhaps lost in the sheets.

Sebastian looks away bashfully and raises his wrists. “I was only thinking of having you tie my hands against my back, as I'm rougher when I'm sober and didn't want to 'leave any marks.'”

Arty lets out an amused laugh. “Come here then,” he purrs.

The extra enthusiasm the brunet’s voice makes Sebastian's eyes snap up to Arty curiously. Arty merely smirks deviously and grips Sebastian's wrists, pulling them roughly behind the larger man's back and twisting the belt. He checks the tightness for Sebastian's circulation and fastens the leather with practised ease.

Sebastian feels a thrill in his stomach.

“Get on the bed,” Arty orders.

Sebastian obeys, watching Arty with interest. Arty is growing hard again, tenting the front of the shirt, and the hem rides enticingly over his hips. Sebastian's never seen anything so fuckable.

Arty pushes Sebastian down and scans around for the lube.

The domestic help has placed it neatly on the bedside cabinet. Arty snatches it up and after ripping down those boxers puts it to use, leaving it cold to hear the way Sebastian gasps.

Sebastian squirms and protests, but something about Arty's wicked grin makes his insides flutter.

Arty takes Sebastian hard, biting along his neck and shoulders in a way that sets Sebastian's jaw and makes his hips snap furiously. Arty's hands are rough and everywhere, and Sebastian knows the belt is the only thing that's stopping him from turning the vixen black and blue in passionate reciprocation.

The leather has stretched and almost torn when Arty finally lets Sebastian go. Sebastian's shoulders ache and he gets the barest relief when he rolls them, but he feels a steady sort of thrill at the battered sight of himself.

Arty grins at him with a fascinating dark heat in his gaze.

They fuck on and off lazily throughout the day, only breaking for food. They order lunch to their room and are served by a seasoned, nonchalant older man, but they venture down to the restaurant again for dinner. The girl from earlier is escorting an infirm, elderly guest to a table with genuine kindness and notices the young men on her way back to the lobby. Sebastian cannot find a comfortable position to sit and the girl's eyes widen at his fidgeting. She spares them both a friendly, wicked look which Arty returns smugly. Sebastian's lips curl upwards slightly but his ears are notably pink.

The pair return upstairs slowly, not taking the lift due to an unspoken understanding of their desire to linger in each other's company.

Arty flops onto the bed and Sebastian joins him, pressing up together companionably for a while. Eventually Arty pulls himself up slowly and starts to change back into his clothes.

Sebastian watches him a little morosely, wanting to persuade Arty to stay for as long as possible, but understanding by the way Arty's posture starts to stiffen that this is after all only a job.

“Thanks for a better weekend than I imagined,” Sebastian says.

Arty looks up, noting the warmth in Basher's voice for what it is. “Likewise,” he says in a voice devoid of inflection.

The brunet stuffs his earnings into his pocket and heads towards the door.

“Wait,” Sebastian blurts.

Arty stiffens but looks around questioningly.

Sebastian quickly crosses over to the desk and uses a hotel pen to print out his number on a corner of paper. He rips it away and approaches Arty with it slowly.

“In case… you know… you take on a job that's more dangerous than you expected,” Sebastian says a little awkwardly.

Arty glances up at Sebastian then down at the phone number with an inscruitable expression, but reaches out to take it, brushing against Sebastian's skin.

Arty leaves, murmuring, “At ease, soldier.”

Sebastian goes back to the bed and stares at the bland ceiling trying to process his swirling emotions.


	4. The Hospital

Sebastian does his best to focus on carving out a passable new existence and tells himself that the weekend he spent after his discharge was nothing more than an enjoyable way to relieve the associated tension.

He has to focus on his future, such as it is.

His new occupation certainly isn't legal and it doesn't have much in the way of career progression, but he has an exceptional skill and he utilised it.

The jobs come slow at first, and Sebastian is forced to rely on gambling to bridge the gaps between (or accept money from Augustus, and that certainly is not an option unless there's some sick pleasure attached). However, whispers on the street and in dark rooms are making him known in 'professional' circles and Sebastian finds he's starting to be able to support himself.

It's not the army, but there's less shouting and pointless tasks, and more action and lie ins, which that's what Sebastian responds to. It's neither glamorous or safe, but that suits him too.

Sebastian is finishing cleaning up equipment after a late job when a phone starts to ring. He's startled and tired, so it takes a moment to shuffle through the current burner, his ordinary work phone and his personal one. He'd pulled them out of his pocket and dumped them in a stack on the table once he got home.

His personal phone is lit up and insistently displaying a number he does not recognise. It looks to be local.

Sebastian answers it on a whim, continuing to oil down small pieces by rolling them around the cloth in his hand.

“Hello? Is that Sebastian?”

The voice is female and professional, clear and superficially warm, but there's an edge of tiredness to it, and perhaps concern.

Sebastian sits forward. “Speaking.”

She explains she is calling from the nearby hospital and Sebastian starts to consider his friends, a tightness appearing in his stomach even though there is no one he is exceptionally close to. It doesn't make sense for any of his army friends to have been admitted to this particular hospital, but he knows plenty of others in dubious jobs.

Then the woman explains that they have admitted a patient who had been seriously injured, and would not give them any of his personal details. Sebastian puts down his cloth.

“He didn't have anything on him, except for your number,” the woman finishes, a shrug in her voice.

“I'll be there right away,” Sebastian offers. “What ward?”

The hospital worker tells him, but then takes a breath and adds, “Prepare yourself. He's in a bad way.”

“Coming now,” Sebastian asserts, terminating the call and heading out to the hospital.

Sebastian realises as he reaches the destination that he still does not know who or what to expect.

He trots through the hospital ill at ease with focus only on ward numbers.

Sebastian finally finds where he needs to be and explains his presence. Someone in scrubs gives him a look and leads him through to a ward.

Arty.

Fuck.

The bloodied teenager in bed looks like he almost did not reach his twenties. Sebastian swallows and clinically assesses the damage, as though he's still in Kabul and not merely Greater London.

“We can release him with medication if there's someone to sign him out and help with his recovery,” explains a man in what seems to be Monsters Inc scrubs.

Sebastian nods and eyes the charts on Arty's bed. “I can sign him out; that's no problem,” he states soberly.

“Alright,” says scrubs. “He's on an IV just now, and he's had a few transfusions, but we'll give you some antibiotics and pain management. He'll need his dressings kept clean, dry, and regularly changed. I can give you a print out about that, and any danger signs like fever or swelling. He'll need to come back in ten days' time to have the staples on his lesser wounds taken out, and we'll assess his deeper wounds again then. Any issues, get in touch.”

Sebastian processes this glut of information, commits it to memory and agrees.

The staff member goes to fetch the paperwork and Sebastian turns to look wearily at Arty.

The brunet startles Sebastian by sitting up on his elbows and opening his eyes. Apparently he wasn't sleeping.

“You didn't h… Thanks,” Arty says in a subdued, rough voice.

“You gonna tell me what happened?” Sebastian asks.

Arty bares his teeth in an awkward smile, his lips discolouring around the broken skin as they stretch out. “Nope.”

Sebastian nods, certain he can work it out of the kid later. He glances across at the glass partition, noting the approach of the paperwork.

“You going to tell me what to write down?” Sebastian asks.

“Nope,” repeats Arty in what might have been a sing-song voice were it not so scratchy. He has the gall to smirk arrogantly, as though he's not more held together by surgical stitches and staples than anything else.

Sebastian sighs, but crosses to the door and takes the forms and printouts he is offered. He takes photographs of the care instructions for fear of losing them then folds them carefully into his pocket.

“You don't need to go to that effort,” Arty comments as the man in cartoon scrubs leaves. Sebastian much prefers them to theatre blues but wonders about Arty's age.

“If you're going to talk you could tell me something useful,” Sebastian responds, clicking the pen from the clipboard and surveying the questions.

“Like what?” Arty asks.

“Name? Age? On any medication already?”

“No, no, and no,” Arty mutters belligerently.

Sebastian sighs, “Fine.” He ticks the boxes he thinks he can answer, like race and nationality.

“Just make it up,” Arty says, sounding uncomfortable.

Sebastian prints ARTICUS MORAN in the section marked 'name.' “Give me a rough idea on age? Nineteen? Eighteen?”

“Seventeen, not that the difference matters,” Arty croaks.

Sebastian glances up at him in surprise. Arty stares him down.

Sebastian sighs and does the mental arithmetic to calculate Arty's birth year. He makes up a birthday. 

“Address?” Sebastian asks.

Arty gives him another grumpy look.

Sebastian writes down his own.

“Phone?” he asks, knowing the likely response.

Arty huffs, crossing his arms instinctively before finding the action too painful.

Sebastian writes down his own again, and continues to make up likely details, leaving the national insurance number blank. He also presumes 'consent to share data' is another fat no.

“Any known allergies?” Sebastian asks.

Arty blinks and shakes his head.

“You want to sign it?” Sebastian asks.

The brunet curls his lip.

Sebastian sighs and makes up a signature, handing back the forms on Monsters Inc's return.

“There's a bit missing where-”

“Sorry, don't know it off of the top of my head,” Sebastian apologies. “Can we get it to you later?”

“Sure,” the staff member replies, glancing at Arty with an odd nervousness although he just wants the young man out of his ward and out of the hospital.

A nurse in block colours comes in and removes Arty's drip and other paraphernalia without making small talk or eye contact.

Sebastian gives Arty a curious look, but the brat looks away.

Monsters Inc gives Sebastian a familiar tracksuit explaining, “His top wasn't salvageable.” He places down the medication and leaves quickly with the clipboard, the image of Arty being used as a pin cushion floating without welcome into Sebastian's head.

Arty leans heavily on the bed and shuffles towards Sebastian. He snatches the clothing lightly and changes stiffly but without self-consciousness.

“I'll get your shoes,” Sebastian offers, noticing as Arty bends to pull on his bottoms that the young man cannot help but wince in pain, the newly exposed wounds on his torso stretched by the motion. Presumably Arty recognises the necessity himself, as he permits Sebastian to drop to the floor and guide his feet into the worn trainers.

Arty makes another series of small, insufficiently muffled pain noises as he pulls on his thin tracksuit jacket. Sebastian's heart twinges but he holds back the urge to embrace the brunette, certain the touch would not be welcome.

“Let's go,” Arty says hoarsely.

“You need to lean on me?” Sebastian asks.

Arty curls his lip but concedes. Sebastian pockets the cumbersome medications and approaches to support Arty's movements.

Somehow Sebastian gets the acerbic but unusually muted teen downstairs and outside. 

Arty announces softly, “If you give me my painkillers I'll be on my way.”

Sebastian entwines their arms tightly and hails down a black hackney cab. “Not a chance,” he responds. “You need looking after.”

Arty opens his mouth to argue angrily, but Sebastian ignores him and drags the brunet towards the waiting car.


	5. The Cab

The rain has finally stopped, but the night is dark and the glare of street lamps and neon signage bounces off of puddles everywhere. It hurts Arty's eyes and somehow even at this hour there is enough traffic noise to make him want to crawl out of his own skin.

Everything aches, his arms and torso a steady burn that is not helped by Basher manhandling him towards a cab.

Arty cannot quite get a read on the man; cannot determine whether his motives are that of a do-gooder or something darker.

Sebastian pulling Arty around amidst the lights and the sound is disorientating, partly because of the recent and significant blood loss. The brunette struggles, but it is clear he is weak, and Sebastian pins the younger man close to his chest lest the boy hurts himself further.

Arty recognises the futility of his efforts but continues anyway, frustrated. Sebastian opens the door to the hackney, guides Arty into the back and closes the door behind them both.

“Conduit Street, Mayfair,” Sebastian tells the apathetic driver. “And can you put the child locks on? My bratty little step-brother knows he's in big trouble when he gets home.”

The driver nods, a thin smile on his lips as though naughty little rich boys getting their comeuppance is the closest thing to justice he's known in this world.

Arty dives for the door before it clicks locked, but Sebastian wrangles him back into the seat and buckles him in.

“Just settle down, will you?” Sebastian mutters. “You're going to pull your stitches.”

“I wouldn't be pulling anything if you'd just give me my meds and leave me alone,” Arty spits back.

“And how are you going to manage to change the dressings by yourself? Or keep them clean when you only seem to have the clothes on your back and can't give an address for where you're staying?”

Arty's gaze glitters dangerously. “That's my concern; not yours.”

Sebastian leans closer. “I think you'll find it _is_ my concern because _I'm_ the one you let them call in the middle of the night and I'm also the one that signed you out under the agreement that I'd administer your meds, help with your dressings, and monitor your wounds.”

“I'm sorry that they called you,” Arty retorts, his throat still evidently painful, “but I don't want your help.”

Sebastian sighs and scowls, vividly reminded of certain pigheaded friends injured during combat. “I saw the state of you when you got changed,” Sebastian states. “You let anything that nasty get infected and your pride is the last thing you'll need to worry about.”

“And yet that _still_ wouldn't be any of your business,” Arty retorts icily.

Sebastian sits back and gives the brunette a disparaging look. “Too bad. Get used to it.”

Arty feels like hitting Sebastian but his forearms have been slashed to shreds and their constant dull throb persuades him not to. He's angry and frustrated and vulnerable, and he absolutely detests it.

Sebastian looks over at his companion. “That bloke said for you to come back in ten days to see how you're doing and to take the staples out. You can last ten days, can't you?”

“I can take the staples out myself,” Arty bites.

Sebastian gives him an uncomplimentary look. “No way. What you _can_ do doesn't bother me. What you _will_ be doing is coming with me in ten days to have things dealt with properly.”

The brunet glares blackly, but slumps against the seat. Everything hurts and he's tired.

Sebastian notes the temporary surrender and relaxes slightly into his seat, shooting Arty the occasional sidelong glances.

The boy is still simmering. Sebastian gets the feeling this whole night is going to a be a fight.

He could do without the aggravation, but then… there's no way he could just abandon the kid in the pathetic state he is in. Especially if it's true that he's barely an adult.

Arty abruptly unsnaps his seatbelt and lunges, his tiny arm fitting through the money tray in the cab's partition wall and snatching at the driver's own belt, choking him.

The driver looks around with an exclamation, startled, and swerves the car.

Sebastian hits down on Arty's bandages, hearing him holler, and drags the brat back against the seats.

The driver gasps, righting the car amidst the blare of horns, and pulls up against the curb.

Sebastian's stomach sinks. He fully expects to be quite rightly kicked out. They're near the east end of Hyde Park so far, and trying to get Arty to walk the rest of the way is going to be murder.

Sebastian starts to apologise, but his stomach turns cold as the driver reaches into the glove box.

In an instant Sebastian has removed his own seat belt and has positioned himself between the driver and Arty. He considers the head rests, wondering whether there would be enough time to break the window or the partition before the gun is drawn.

Only it's not a gun.

The driver passes through a hairbrush and Sebastian stares at it for a beat.

“Brat needs some sense knocked into him,” the driver comments. “Coulda killed somebody. And I'd have killed him if he'd wrote off this car.”

Sebastian is aware of the blood in his ears and the rise and fall of his own chest.

He remembers how nervous Arty became around the belt, but there's a sick tingle in Sebastian's stomach that reminds him that he has a taste for fear. His own or another's…

And Arty is very still.

Sebastian reaches for the hairbrush and gestures mockingly with it. He notes how the brunet’s eyes follow its path.

“What's it to be, little boy?” Sebastian asks. “Are you going to sit nicely and behave, or am I going to have to punish you?”

Arty looks paler (if that is even possible) but narrows his eyes. There is an Arctic chill to his voice as he bites out a curse in Sebastian's direction.

Sebastian tuts, tilting his head a little as though he's watching big prey that he's stalking. “That doesn't sound like the response of a good, contrite, little boy to me.” 

Arty crosses his sore arms, glaring.

Sebastian's eyes glitter in assessment and continues, “So either you apologise to our very patient driver and sit back down nicely, wearing your belt and behaving perfectly, or we can find out how long it takes me to make you cry. What's it to be?”

Arty curls his fists, grimacing, and looks like he's going to get himself into bigger trouble.

Sebastian wants to give the brat a chance to back out. He taps Arty's thigh with a moderate, warning firmness. “It's very simple Arty: you sit back down and behave yourself and I'll put this away; but if you don't back down I'm going to have to surmise that you want to be even sorer than you already are. That doesn't seem very sensible to me.”

The brunet knows fine well that the sensible thing to do is to back down, shut up, and play nicely, but that is not who he is, and it is certainly not how he feels tonight. It's late; he's tired; he's sore; he almost died and not only is this ex client bullying him, he is humiliating him in front of a stranger.

Arty ignores the fire along his arms and pushes Sebastian is hard as he can in the confined space.

Sebastian gives the brunet a look that sends fear down his spine, and spins Arty around, landing three hard smacks over the thin tracksuit bottoms. Arty has to close his eyes to prevent tears, but when he opens them he tries to dart around, tempted to punch Basher in the throat.

Sebastian increases the pressure of his grip. “You're going to want to keep still,” he warns. “We don't want your arms and chest to feel any worse than they already do.”

He lands a lighter, teasing blow to Arty's bottom, and chuckles at the younger man's inability to hold back a flinch.

“Are you going to be a good boy, or do I need to bare that arse of yours and light it on fire?” Sebastian asks, stroking the back of the brush tauntingly against Arty's rear.

Arty is going to pull out Sebastian's eyes the instant he gets free.

Sebastian taps the bottom before him. “Pardon? I didn't hear a reply there.”

“Go to hell,” Arty mutters.

He cries out, the effort straining his burning throat worse, as Sebastian rains down a short flurry of painful smacks.

“Naughty, naughty,” Sebastian whispers mockingly.

Arty is certain the sick fuck is getting pleasure out of this. “No marks, remember?” he hisses.

“Oh, you won't be working this week,” Sebastian declares. “You will be under house arrest for the next ten days if that's what it takes to ensure you're safe and well and healing.”

He swats Arty again lightly.

“And if you struggle with my rules,” Sebastian purrs, “you'll know what to expect.”

He pulls the elasticated waistband of Arty's tracksuit bottoms down, momentarily admiring the pink marks on the skin, then delivers a quick succession of teasing, stinging smacks.

“So,” says Sebastian, turning his punishing hand around so that he can soothe the sorry bottom with his cool skin, “are you going to be my good boy?”

Arty sniffs, hating himself. “Whatever,” he mutters softly.

Sebastian places the hairbrush on the coin tray behind them and pinches the brunet’s sore bottom. “You can do better than that.”

Arty huffs and squirms. “Fine,” he bites out.

“Little boy, does this bare bottom need more smacking? That tone of voice certainly sounds like you want more,” Sebastian drawls.

Arty knows he has taken worse pain and worse humiliation, but his temper often gets the better of him. He throws his skull back, aiming for any part of the other man he can reach, and is gratified by the burst of pain that means he connected.

Sebastian steps back for a minute, pain blooming and mind dazed, then snatches Arty, throwing him carefully but forcefully over Sebastian's own thighs, mindful of Arty's terribly red torso.

Sebastian uses his large, strong hand to deliver a fierce volley of burning slaps that make Arty gasp and whimper despite his pride.

Rubbing the same hand soothingly, tauntingly, across the warm, reddened skin, Sebastian teases, “I certainly know a well-smacked little boy who's going to find it uncomfortable to sleep tonight.”

“Shut up,” Arty says in a quiet voice. His eyelashes are wet.

Sebastian draws his short nails lightly over Arty's stinging, exposed skin. “That stubborn tongue in your head won't do you many favours,” Sebastian warns softly.

Arty makes a noise of acknowledgement in his throat, as though he dare not risk a comment.

“So the boy can learn,” Sebastian drawls. He pats the burning bottom under his fingers sympathetically. “Be a good boy now and maybe there won't be tears from you before bedtime.”

Arty grunts softly in response.

Sebastian pulls the boy's waistband carefully over the mistreated, pretty cheeks, doing his best not to cause further pain.

“Put your seatbelt on,” Sebastian orders, lifting Arty with care. The older man runs his gaze over the brunet’s torso for wetness or any indication of burst stitches.

There are none.

Arty squirms in his seat, stone-faced, and directs his glare away instead of at Sebastian.

“Conduit Street, you said?” the driver asks loudly.

“Please, mate,” Sebastian replies, fixing his seatbelt and keeping a firm grip on Arty.

After being thus dealt with, the brunette is reluctantly quiet for the rest of the ride. Everything hurts, including his ego, and he promises himself fair retribution.

They eventually pull up on a street that makes Arty's breath catch.

Sebastian fishes in his pocket and pulls out more money than demanded by the glowing meter, pushing it through the partition with half an eye still on the brunet.

“Keep it,” the driver offers. “It's enough to know that you love your brother.”

Sebastian blinks, but his lips half curl upwards anyway, and he pushes the money again. “Consider it a thank you for getting us home safe.”

The driver sighs and accepts, giving them both an oddly wistful look.

Sebastian removes Arty's seatbelt and helps him out of the car, being very careful of the brat's wounds.

The brunet cannot understand these changeable moods.

“Come on brat,” Sebastian declares, “let's put you to bed.”

Arty glares heatedly at the side of the man's head.


	6. The Apartment

The street is a mishmash of overpriced buildings crammed together in haughty familiarity, with smooth art deco geometry holding place against ostentatious cornicing.

Sebastian pulls Arty into a spacious reception area and towards the lifts, punching 'up' then 'five' without even a glance towards his abducted charge. The ride up reminds Arty of how he had felt at the hotel and it stokes his anger further. Sebastian is silent.

The lift opens directly into an internal hallway, which is glaringly white and always annoys Sebastian a little on sight. He has never been fond of the apartment, but whilst he was on a tour of duty Sir Augustus had saw fit to have decorators rape the period style of the place and turn it into an icy, gleaming identikit version that mirrored that of most of the neighbours. Not that Sebastian ever usually so much as made eye contact with his haughty neighbours. They were his father's people, or the nouveau rich that were rich enough for his father not to ignore in public.

Sebastian leads Arty through to the open plan living area, which is dominated by a ginormous, curved, metallic leather couch.

Sebastian considers his options. He has multiple bedrooms, but he is more likely to notice if Arty becomes feverish if they share a bed.

Arty might not like that, but they managed for a weekend before.

“Are you hungry, or straight to bed for you?” Sebastian asks softly.

Arty blinks, his hatred receding marginally as he considers. “I just want sleep,” he croaks in a closed off voice.

“Think you can manage the stairs, or do you need me to carry you?” Sebastian asks.

Arty snorts. He does not want to be anywhere near the other man, much less touching. “Where's the stairs?” he asks in a clipped voice.

“Through here,” Sebastian responds.

Arty follows and grips the handrail heavily. His legs work, but he is beyond exhausted, and the breathing required to mount the stairs sends fire along his ruined chest.

“I don't mind carrying you,” Sebastian says gently.

Arty answers with a poisonous glare. He hates how Basher can make those eyes look kind when not long ago he was making Arty a victim of his sadistic amusement.

“Fine, struggle; what do I care?” Sebastian mutters. He waits patiently instead of continuing ahead, concerned the brunette might fall.

Eventually Arty manages up the stairs.

“Do you want clean clothes to sleep in?” Sebastian asks.

Arty does not want to accept anything from the git, but clean clothes are too tempting to resist. He nods stiffly.

“How low do your wounds go?” Sebastian asks, heading towards his drawers. “Will boxers cut in? I have some pajamas but you'll need to roll the legs up.

“Just give me a big teeshirt,” Arty says, his voice somewhere between dull and biting. “Not as if you can't see my arse any time you want, is it?”

Sebastian blinks, but reaches for a middle drawer. “I gave you ample opportunity to back down.”

“That doesn't mean I wanted it,” Arty states through gritted teeth.

“Doesn't it?” Sebastian drawls archly. He retrieves an oversized teeshirt that will drown Arty. He pulls back his arm to throw it, then considers the brunette's wounds and instead carries it over.

Arty takes it crossly and unzips his tracksuit jacket. As he tugs at the zip the dark material clings against his chest and highlight twin, raised pea-shapes.

He's always cold, Sebastian remembers. And he should be, wearing that little in late October.

Arty drops the zipper to the floor and Sebastian gets another look at those hellish stab wounds. 

It hurts for Arty to raise his arms over his head. The brunette pulls the clean top over his head with mild difficulty, panting a little but exuding an air that tells Sebastian not to offer help. 

The hem skims Arty's rear. He toes out of his shoes and scowls as he awkwardly pulls his waistband down over his tender cheeks.

“I'll get you some water for your tablets,” Sebastian announces, trying to keep his gaze at face level.

Arty peels off his socks. “Fine.”

Sebastian disappears through what is presumably the door to an en suite. Arty hears a clinking sound then running water. He's tired enough that he'd like to just slump onto the bed but everything hurts.

Sebastian returns with a chunky glass tumbler of water. He hands it to Arty, who considers smashing it into Basher's face and might have, if not for the exhaustion.

Sebastian empties the medication and printouts from his jacket before shoving it over a chair. He reads the instructions on the painkillers and antibiotics before ripping them open and handing Arty the corresponding amount.

“I'm perfectly capable,” Arty glowers.

“I need to feel useful, alright,” Sebastian mutters.

Arty glances at him for a moment, then grunts and lowers his gaze. He knocks back the pills with the water.

Sebastian undresses, feeling dead on his feet. He glances at Arty. “If you're finished with the drink just dump it on the bedside table.”

Arty obeys, because he just wants to sleep.

“Do you want me to get you a fresh toothbrush or can you wait until morning?” Sebastian asks.

“It can wait,” Arty mutters.

Sebastian pulls aside the bed covers. “Get some rest then. We can talk in the morning.”

Arty wants to resist, but he wants sleep far more. He mounts the mattress obediently. “About what?”

“About how we're going to get along?” Sebastian suggests. “House rules for both of us.”

Arty tries to sit down, but can't get comfortable. “For you?” he croaks dubiously.

“I expect you have preferences for how you get treated,” Sebastian comments, dropping onto the duvet in his tight boxers.

“Unconvinced you could manage,” Arty sneers, trying to lie on his side. He tosses about, pain forcing him to keep moving.

“Try a pillow under the base of your spine,” Sebastian suggests, lying down with his back to the brunette. There is enough space in the bed that their bodies do not touch.

Arty gives him a dubious look, but tries it. It's not comfortable, but it's less painful than anything else.

Arty turns at looks at the back of Sebastian's skull questioningly.

Sebastian senses the attention. “I used to get thrashed a lot for fighting,” he explains mildly.

Arty grunts sleepily in response, reaching up to adjust the pillow underneath his head.

He flinches and freezes as his fingers curl around cold metal.

Sebastian feels the disturbance shake the bed and glances across at the boy. Noting Arty's white face, Sebastian quickly apologies and pulls the gun from under the pillow.

“I'll get rid of it,” Sebastian announces, getting out of bed and disappearing out of the room.

He returns sans weapon. “Forgot it was there,” he says by way of explanation.

He lies down and is asleep before long, but Arty lies awake and still until the pain medication kicks in. He now cannot sleep for a reason other than the pain.


	7. Morning in Mayfair

Sebastian wakes early, frowning against the glaring daylight. He peers into the brightness for a moment, confused as to what could have possessed him to stay in Mayfair again.

As he shifts, there is a sleepy noise from behind him and Sebastian realises he has a pair of feet entangled with his own.

Sebastian glances over his shoulder and his memories rush into order. Arty.

Sebastian lies still, his heart racing a little. What had he been thinking?

Arty doesn't have that wicked, challenging smirk on his face whilst he sleeps, but he still exudes an energy that Sebastian certainly likes.

It would be easy to put last night's misjudged games down to tiredness, but Sebastian knows he is not that blameless.

There's not much doubt that Arty is a street kid, so Sebastian better get himself the fuck under control, or Arty will disappear and end up with those hellish wounds infected.

Sebastian eases away from Arty carefully and leaves the bed.

He pads over on bare feet to where the medications and print outs lie. He picks them up and carries them through to the kitchen silently.

Arty sleeps deeply. It's notably different from the quiet stillness of his feigned sleep at the hospital.

Sebastian dumps the meds on the counter and perches on a breakfast stool to read the print outs studiously. There's nothing on them he doesn't anticipate, but he sticks them on the fridge with a magnet anyway.

Sebastian surveys the contents of his fridge and cupboards quietly. There's a reasonable amount of food, but if the kid's going to recover properly from his injuries he's going to need the vitamins and such that come from perishables.

Sebastian decides a quick trip to a nearby general shop is more practical than leaving Arty alone to make the small trek to Blandford Street, and slides down from the stool. He quietly retrieves trainers, joggers and a teeshirt from one of the smaller bedrooms and leaves quickly, swiping some notes from the change dish on the coffee table.

Sebastian heads for the out-of-season watermelon, because he remembers something about them boosting the immune system and preventing wound infection. He then picks up some easy-peel citrus fruit and a few other ordinary pieces of fruit with the hopes that although he has no idea what Arty likes, the brunet will find something edible. Sebastian also picks up mushrooms, mixed nuts, fish and fresh meat. It's all nutritious; hopefully Arty will want at least some of it.

Sebastian hurries back and puts the groceries away quietly before sticking his head around the main bedroom's door.

Arty is still sleeping.

Relieved that the teen is safe and healing, Sebastian retreats to the kitchen and considers what he can prepare quietly: cereal is out and the toaster is noisy (although is honestly unlikely to wake Arty).

Sebastian retrieves eggs from the fridge, checks their freshness with the float test since he hasn't been home in a while, then proceeds to crack them very quietly. He poaches the eggs and sits down to eat.

The tasks seem to have calmed Sebastian, and eating soothes him further.

It's so quiet at this hour.

Admittedly the triple glazing and high floor makes it easy to ignore the people going about their days outside, but it is a Saturday so there are not so many of them.

Daylight streams through the wall of windows, bouncing off of the obnoxious white paint, but now that Sebastian is wakened it bothers him less. He stares out of the window for a while then gets to his feet and washes up.

There have been no noises to suggest Arty has woken yet. Sebastian glances at the oven clock and wonders whether he should wake the brunet just for the sake of the medication.

Sebastian is reluctant to do so, but mentally prepares himself to break Arty's sleep if he has not risen in an hour.

He occupies himself by quietly cutting up the watermelon with one of his expensive knives.

That is how Arty finds him as the brunet peers through to the living area dubiously.

Sebastian looks around at the noise.

“Morning,” he says mildly. “Are you ready to eat?”

Arty approaches slowly, eyeing the fruit as much as he eyes Sebastian.

Sebastian keeps his eyes at an appropriate level and hands the younger man a large chunk of the watermelon. Arty takes it wordlessly, noting Sebastian's trainers.

Sebastian puts down the knife and steps away, rinsing off his hands and putting out Arty's pills.

Arty eyes the large knife speculatively but merely continues to eat.

“You want toast, cereal, meat?” Sebastian asks.

Arty blinks, still unused to choices. “This is fine,” he comments.

Sebastian nods, pleased he's persuaded some nutrition into the boy. “You want me to make you coffee or are you going back to sleep after your meds?”

Arty blinks. “Don't you want anything?”

“I ate whilst you were sleeping,” Sebastian explains and indicates the drying dishes.

That was not what Arty mean, but he does not correct the other man. “Sleep sounds good,” the brunet states.

Sebastian nods, filling a glass with water and leaving it besides Arty with the tablets.

Arty bites down to the rind and glances around for somewhere to dispose of it. Sebastian points to the bin and takes a slice himself, sitting down on a different bar stool. “Help yourself,” he offers.

Arty does so, sliding onto Sebastian's chair with minimal discomfort. The large teeshirt rides up indecently. Arty notes how Sebastian focuses his gaze onto his food determinedly.

Eventually Arty feels full and takes his medicine in quick succession. He puts the green skins in the bin and licks the juice from his fingers.

“I'm going back to bed,” he announces carefully.

“I'll keep it down,” Sebastian promises. He blinks. “Oh, wait, let me get my phones first in case they wake you.”

Arty watches Sebastian jump quickly from the chair and disappear upstairs. He returns quickly with the phones and dumps them on the breakfast bar. “Bedroom's yours,” the broad man declares. “Should I wake you when you're due your next dose?”

Arty concedes with a silent nod, his expression strange, and retreats to the bedroom.

Sebastian clears up, then uses the shower in one of the small bathrooms, pulling the teeshirt and joggers from earlier back on afterwards.

He treads softly downstairs and conducts some business on one of his phones.

A noise from upstairs suggests Arty won't need the wake up call. The boy thumps softly down the stairs, not creeping this time, and greets Sebastian with a nod.

“Are you hungry?” Sebastian asks.

Arty shakes him head. “Can I – can I have some tea?”

“Sure. How do you like it?” Sebastian pulls himself off of the beautiful / ridiculous couch and boils some water as he clatters softly around in drawers and cupboards. He sets two plain mugs on the counter, quickly closing the door before Arty can see much more of the personal ones than a Persian badge.

Arty murmurs a response.

“The remote is probably tidied away somewhere near the TV if you want it,” Sebastian suggests as he prepares the tea.

Arty glances over at the expensive television but shrugs. “I'm alright.”

“Biscuits?” Sebastian asks mildly.

Arty shrugs, but it's a different sort, so Sebastian lifts a tin from a nearby cupboard and leaves it open.

Sebastian carries the steaming mugs over to the glass coffee table and deliberately ignores the coasters tucked neatly on a shelf underneath. He heads back to get the tin, but Arty lifts it wordlessly and follows.

Sebastian sits, the strange leather warmed by the sunlight, and picks up a mug, holding it to himself.

Arty lifts his mug and a biscuit. The brunet sits, not on the opposite end of the enormous couch, but a reasonable space away from Sebastian. 

“Remind me to look you out a toothbrush later,” Sebastian comments.

Arty looks at the older man over the steam of tea, feeling mildly at ease. “Can I take a shower after on?”

“Sure, whenever you want,” Sebastian says. “But you need to keep your bandages clean and dry.”

Arty gives him a dubious look but nods. He knows that were he to ask for help Basher would give it, but the brunet is unsure what that would cost.


	8. Bandages on Sunday

Arty sleeps throughout most of Saturday, ensconced in an enormous teeshirt and curled amongst the thick, twisted duvet. When roused he appears downstairs only to graze quietly and accept the medication Sebastian offers.

For all of Arty's limited appearances Sebastian is still very aware of the additional presence in the house. It's not the first time anyone else has ever stayed here with him, but it is the first time the company has been so domestic as to merely sleep and take medicine.

It is a strange sort of intimacy regardless of the emotional distance between the two young men. It unsettles Sebastian, but he cannot deny that he enjoys the company (even if the company spends most time upstairs asleep). Perhaps Sebastian is simply too used to the fraternal nature of army life, but having Arty in the apartment makes Conduit Street somehow easier to tolerate.

Sebastian tidies up quietly before retiring to bed. 

Arty seems groggy but more than half awake. He follows Sebastian's movements with a mildly suspicious look, but when Sebastian merely climbs into bed with the obvious intention of sleeping, Arty relaxes a little and pushes his feet towards him.

Sebastian is surprised by the forthright gesture, but puts it down to Arty's sleepiness and perhaps a temporary vulnerability in the teen born from the savage wounds marring the small frame. “Good night, Arty,” Sebastian says softly.

“We didn't go over house rules,” Arty comments lightly, his voice slightly less scratchy than before.

Sebastian turns around, careful not to dislodge Arty's feet. “I thought your sleep was needed more,” the man explains.

“Want a thank you?” Arty asks.

Sebastian grimaces. “I'd rather you got some rest. You're badly hurt.”

“I look okay from the back still,” Arty presses.

Sebastian leans back against the pillows. “House rule one, Arty: don't presume you're only here so I can fuck you.”

“Well it's hardly for my conversation, is it?” Arty points out.

“I like that stroppy tongue of yours,” Sebastian admits. “I imagine you'll berate me with it more once you feel better.”

“So what do you want now?” Arty asks.

“I want you to stop asking stupid questions and get some more sleep,” Sebastian says mildly.

“But what do you get out of it?” Arty asks, leaning up attentively.

Sebastian sighs. “I was a soldier for a long time; I protect people.”

“You don't seem like a do-gooder,” Arty says slowly, scowling skeptically.

“I can be a very flawed person and still not want you to die of infected chest wounds,” Sebastian says reasonably. “It's not a pretty death.”

“What is?” Arty asks, eyes shining with intelligence.

“Nothing that I've seen,” Sebastian admits. “Now unless you want a bedtime story I suggest it's time you closed your eyes and got to sleep.”

Arty snorts. “You got many baby books lying around, have you?”

Sebastian slaps the teen's thigh lightly. “I'll have you know that I can manage without. Haven't you heard the one about the bandaged little brat who wouldn't go to sleep?”

Arty smirks. “You'll have to tell me.”

Sebastian sits up and performs the actions in time with the story. “His much maligned nursemaid had to _tuck him in_ and then gave his forehead a _goodnight kiss_ and told him to quit stalling and start snoring.”

Sebastian flops back down comfortably. Half hidden under the covers Sebastian has wrapped carefully around him, Arty gives him an odd, muted look. Recovering quickly, he lightly quips, “I prefer the one where the nursemaid gets scorched to death by a dragon.”

“You can have crispy bacon for breakfast, you ghoul,” Sebastian replies good-naturedly.

Arty hums in agreement then wriggles down to get comfortable. Both young men fall asleep quickly.

Arty is the first to wake, surprised and mildly disgusted to find himself on top of Sebastian's warm, comfortable body. His neck is cradled between Sebastian's torso and the strong arm curled around him. 

Arty sighs and slowly eases away from the cozy position.

Sebastian wakes at the movement, his eyes finding Arty's in the half-light. “Are you okay?” he asks.

“I need the bathroom,” Arty lies quickly.

Sebastian nods and closes his eyes again easily. His expression is relaxed.

Arty retreats to the bathroom for a lack of a better plan. He catches sight of his face in the mirror: the scab across his lips is healing.

His mouth feels disgusting. Arty gazes contemplatively at Sebastian's toothbrush for a moment then grabs it for something to do.

Arty returns to bed with a clean mouth, not especially tired anymore, but uncertain what else to do. Sebastian is warm, and in the chill of the morning, the sun barely risen, Arty cannot stop himself from creeping close.

“Don't read anything into this,” the brunet grumbles.

Sebastian glances up at him drowsily. “I know, I know: you're not a hugger.”

Arty gives him an unreadable look, then turns his head and edges closer to the heat radiating from Sebastian's side. Sebastian smiles a little, softly, and returns to sleep.

Arty glowers at his bed partner without much malice. He watches Sebastian's sleep deepen then wriggles closer, determined not to let the larger man wake first to notice.

The morning light grows and spreads until eventually the room is awash with whiteness. Half asleep, Arty notices Sebastian begin to stir and eases away.

Sebastian wakes slowly, rolling onto his side to observe Arty. 

The brat gives him a cheeky smirk. “Morning.”

Sebastian's gentle expression turns mildly amused. “Morning, Sasslips.”

“They're healing,” Arty confides smugly.

“I'm glad you're happy,” Sebastian comments.

Arty snorts softly. “That might be an exaggeration.”

“Tiny mind,” Sebastian confesses with a grin. “I only deal in extremes.”

Arty snorts less kindly, thinking of Sebastian's polemical nature. Sebastian seems to recognise the insult in the noise and smirks back easily.

“Where's my breakfast, nursemaid?” Arty asks pompously. 

Sebastian laughs, falling back onto his back. “Fine,” he smiles good-naturedly. “What would sir like?”

Arty's gaze flickers. After a beat he recovers, “You promised me bacon. Black. Don't set the fire alarm to a caterwaul.” 

“No promises,” Sebastian grins. He pulls himself up and pads downstairs.

Arty wriggles into the vacated heat and waits.

Sebastian returns with a tray laden with bacon rolls, two bottles of sauce, the medication and a carton of orange juice. He carries two glasses in his other hand.

“Not bad, soldier,” Arty comments.

“Not a soldier any more,” Sebastian confides casually. He sits down on the bed and hands over the tray. He places the glasses on the beside table and states, “I didn't know whether you'd want sauce, or which.”

“I don't have much preference,” Arty comments, covering one roll of bacon in red and the other brown.

“I didn't notice whether the hotel gave you with bits or without,” Sebastian continues, gesturing to the orange juice. “Is this good?”

“Mate, I will consume anything,” Arty declares with an arch of his brow and an eye-roll.

Sebastian knows the words aren't funny, but he cannot help but laugh at Arty's mannerisms.

Arty seems to know it, and graces him with a faux scandalised look.

“Stop it, or I'm going to get crumbs everywhere,” Sebastian protests.

“No skin off of my nose,” Arty declares playfully, taking a large bite out of his roll. “Nursemaids make the bed, right?” 

“I thought you didn't want spanked?” Sebastian retorts dryly, feeling comfortable enough to joke about it. 

Arty gives him a dirty look. “I still owe _you_ a sore arse for what you did to me in that taxi,” he growls. 

Sebastian's lips twitch, surprising Arty a little. “I think I'm safe for at least a week, given the nick of you,” Sebastian states playfully. 

Arty gives him a dark look of promise that makes Sebastian feel a thrill of fear and pleasure. 

Sebastian reaches around for a glass. As he leans forwards Arty bows down and brings his teeth against Sebastian's rear. 

The man yelps, laughing hoarsely as he turns and covers the damp circle with his fingers. “Wild creature,” he mutters. “That'll bruise.”

Arty tilts his chin upwards challengingly, his lips pursing in amusement.

Sebastian rolls his own eyes and places his fingers lightly over the bottom half of Arty's face. “Don't, brat, it's too tempting.”

“Tempting to what?” Arty replies with a look of faux innocence.

Sebastian merely comments, “You're talking an awful lot for someone with a raspy throat.”

“One of us has to raise the level of intelligence in the conversation,” Arty answers, his lips brushing temptingly against Sebastian's hand.

Sebastian sighs, taking back his hand and wiping it on his thigh. He finishes the last of his own roll swiftly and remarks, “I'm going for a shower.”

“Scared you'll ravish me, Basher?” Arty asks tauntingly. He takes his pills.

“You wish,” Sebastian retorts. He showers quickly, noting the damp state of his own toothbrush as he reaches for it. It gives him pause, as there is something oddly intimate about knowing Arty had used something Sebastian often puts in his own mouth.

Sebastian brushes his teeth and returns to the bedroom with a towel wrapped loosely around his hips. “What colour of toothbrush do you want?” he asks.

Arty's lips curl. “Should I care?”

“Well I've got blue like my eyes?” Sebastian smirks, “Or green like Ireland? Pink like...”

Arty gives him a dry look. “Pink like my arse after you yanked down my trackies?”

Sebastian's lips curl into a smile. “Pinker.”

Arty predictably rolls his eyes. “Blue. I'll picture chewing your eyeballs every morning.”

Sebastian laughs. “You creepy little fucker.”

“You have no idea,” Arty murmurs. The way his eyes glitter dangerously draws Sebastian's interest.

Arty has shoved the tray aside, but takes a long drink, watching Sebastian speculatively from over the rim of the glass. “So why aren't you in the army anymore?” he asks.

Sebastian makes a face.

“Tell me,” Arty goads in a raspy sing song voice.

Sebastian sighs and sits down on the bed. “I was a naughty boy.”

“You weren't before you signed up?” Arty drawls in disbelief.

The corners of Sebastian's lips twitch. “Perhaps they thought they could knock it out of me.”

Arty takes another sip, watching Sebastian thoughtfully. Sebastian braces himself for further questions about his past, but Arty merely asks, “So what are the house rules then?”

Sebastian blinks. “No cutting me up into little pieces,” he jokes. 

__“Big ones fine by you then?” Arty comments, eyes glittering._ _

__Sebastian snorts, and he would have thrown something if Arty didn't have a glass of orange juice held over a white duvet. “No irreparable harm. To either of us.”_ _

__“So boring,” Arty huffs._ _

__“In the job description of nursemaid right under 'endures much eye rolling',” Sebastian replies, standing and crossing over to the chest of drawers. Searching out clean clothes he asks, “What rules do you suggest?”_ _

__“A regular bashing?”_ _

__Sebastian gives him a sour look. “Your abs aren't shredded: they're in ribbons. You're in no fit state.”_ _

__Arty gives a theatrical sigh, although Sebastian senses the teen is relieved._ _

__“Speaking of your chest,” Sebastian continues, “your bandages need changed today.”_ _

__Arty shrugs, but his playfulness deflates a little._ _

__Sebastian pulls on boxers and joggers, padding back towards the bed. He sits down and crosses his legs casually. “No rush though; whenever you're feeling up to it today.”_ _

__“Might as well get it over with,” Arty mutters reluctantly._ _

__Sebastian washes his hands and fetches some medical supplies. “You want to shower first or just want me to fix these up?”_ _

__Arty considers. Although he's feeling chattier he is still bloody tired. “I'll wash later.”_ _

__Sebastian nods, seeming to read Arty's mind, and sits on the edge of the bed beside him. “You'll need to take your shirt off,” Sebastian comments._ _

__Arty looks down, knowing that he is naked underneath, but Sebastian's early assertions persuade him there is little issue in undressing in his current physical state. He pulls the top over his head._ _

__Sebastian gives him space for a moment then begins to peel off the bandages. The medical tape comes away without much issue._ _

__Sebastian cleans and cares for the wounds with a careful efficiently that unnerves Arty. Although it is reassuring to recognise his caregiver's competence, it unsettles Arty to wonder how Sebastian's skills became so proficient._ _

__Sebastian clears the mess away before getting comfortable on the bed beside Arty, who seems tired again._ _

__“I'll need to go out later,” Sebastian announces warily. “I've got work for a few hours, but I'll give you your next dose before I need to go. Will you be alright by yourself?”_ _

__“Will I run, do you mean?” Arty drawls._ _

__Sebastian eyes him intently._ _

__Arty shrugs. “I'll probably sleep until you come back.”_ _

__“Good,” Sebastian replies a little gruffly. He curls towards Arty and they both doze._ _

__When they wake it is about time for Arty's medication again. Arty is not hungry, but Sebastian persuades the young man to have some of the watermelon with the tablets._ _

__Arty is amused by the nervous way Sebastian moves. “Worried about me?” he teases._ _

__“Yes, if you must know,” Sebastian replies honestly._ _

__The bluntness startles Arty into silence._ _

__“No eye roll this time?” Sebastian sneers softly, stepping past to grab his keys._ _

__“I'm going back to bed,” Arty says flatly, hoping the comment is read as reassuring._ _

__It perhaps is, a little, judging by the look Sebastian gives him before leaving._ _

__Arty is good for the first hour or two, but eventually gets bored. He washes and gets another drink, but that doesn't seem to help, so he explores the apartment._ _

__When Sebastian returns he finds Arty in one of the spare bedrooms cradling a gun._ _

__“Bigger than I'd expect to find under a pillow,” Arty comments. His eyes glitter in a way that makes the breath catch in Sebastian's broad chest._ _

__The gun isn't the one from before and it _is ___bigger._ _

___Sebastian's hair is ruffled and as he steps closer Arty recognises a scent he cannot quite place._ _ _

___“Gunplay against your rules?” Sebastian asks as Arty continues to examine the well oiled gun._ _ _


	9. Hide

Arty has been giving Sebastian strange little brooding looks since he discovered the second handgun, but Sebastian resolutely refuses to give a sufficient explanation.

Arty doesn't seem to mind much. Sebastian has washed the wretched tracksuit and Arty wanders around in the bottoms, his feet bare and his bandages exposed.

Sebastian looks around as he hears Arty shuffle up behind him in the kitchen, the teen's bottoms making a telltale _swish swish_ as he walks.

“You know tea is supposed to go into tea cups, right?” Arty asks with a small smile in his voice. “The clue is kind of in the name.”

Sebastian looks down at the mugs he is fixing tea into and snorts. “Get used to it, Princess.”

Arty simply grins and reaches into the biscuit cupboard.

The stretching is not a clever idea and he pauses, turning his head away as he grits his teeth.

Sebastian ghosts his fingers over the space between Arty's shoulder blades in tentative reassurance. “Things are going to sting for a bit,” Sebastian reminds him mildly.

“Don't they always,” Arty mutters in mild irritation.

Sebastian lifts out the tin without needing to stretch and places it before Arty. He turns back to the tea. “Hope you like it strong,” he mutters.

“I don't care as long as it's warm,” Arty comments, lifting his head.

“Oh, you expect teacups and saucers, but screw the taste?” Sebastian teases, amused.

Arty gives him a look, his lips pursed and his eyes glittering a little, before lifting the tin and carrying it over to the coffee table.

“Come along, Basher.”

Sebastian smiles despite himself and considers throwing one of the teabags at the smug brat. Considering how long it would take to clean tea out of everything, Sebastian reluctantly disposes of the rubbish.

“What's taking so long?” Arty goads playfully.

“You want this over your head?” Sebastian asks, bringing over the tea smoothly.

“You'd have to change my bandages again,” Arty replies.

“It might be worth it,” Sebastian declares, handing Arty a mug carefully.

Arty does not seem to mind the heat, pulling it close to himself.

“If you burn your skin, Arty, I might stop believing you're the smartest one in the room.”

Arty looks up and smirks at Sebastian as he sits down. “Scalding myself still wouldn't put you in the running.”

Sebastian makes an amused yet long suffering face and reaches out to pull Arty's feet towards him, tucking them under his warm thigh.

Arty wriggles his toes and hips, getting comfortable. 

“I have my uses?” Sebastian asks wryly.

Arty hums in reserved agreement. Sebastian laughs softly and blows on his tea, drawing it close.

A comfortable quiet descends.

“So what happened anyway?” Sebastian asks at last, startling Arty from his contemplative mood.

Arty gives him a sour expression. He indicates his wounds and crossly responds, “You can't tell?”

“That's not an answer,” Sebastian responds calmly.

“You don't have a pimp to worry about, if that's what you're asking,” Arty snaps.

Sebastian stretches his arms along the back of the couch. “Are you in trouble? Were you robbed? Being punished? What?”

Arty snorts coldly. “That's what this is about, isn't it? You think I got mugged over the amount of money you gave me.”

Sebastian gives him a patient look.

Arty pushes his mug onto the coffee table, intent to leave.

Sebastian reaches out and extends a careful pressure to an unmarked piece of flesh between Arty's shoulder and chest. “Sit down, please,” Sebastian orders.

Arty's eyes flash dangerously. “You're not entitled to anything about me!”

“Didn't say I was,” Sebastian says easily. “But I care about the answer regardless.”

“You don't _know_ me,” Arty growls.

“What does that matter?” Sebastian scoffs.

Arty's gaze flickers for a moment in confusion. “It matters,” he insists.

“Then I'll get to know you,” Sebastian shrugs.

“No, you won't!” Arty asserts.

“Whatever you prefer,” Sebastian states mildly, “but you're going to tell me what happened.”

“No, I'm not,” Arty says with certainty.

Sebastian removes his fingers and leans back comfortably. “I reckon you will.”

“Not in this lifetime,” Arty growls.

Sebastian's lips curl. “And how long does your alias have left?”

Arty tenses up. He stands and turns around to face Sebastian quickly. His chest rises and falls quickly, his bandages glaring on his sore skin and the staples catching the light. “Stop it.”

Sebastian raises both palms upwards, still looking infuriatingly calm.

Arty snatches up his mug and throws it at Sebastian.

The older man catches it and gives Arty a look. “Really?” Sebastian drawls.

Arty clenches his fists, spinning as though he wants to pace. He lets out a noise of frustration.

“Arty,” Sebastian intones softly.

The younger man looks at him reluctantly, panting.

“Come here,” Sebastian states. His words seem to hang in the air and Arty looks at him edgily. 

“No,” Arty says in disbelief.

“Come here,” Sebastian repeats.

Arty stares, trembling as though panicked.

“Fine, I'll come to you,” Sebastian declares mildly.

Unsure whether to move or not, Arty watches with frantic eyes as Sebastian sets down the mug and slowly approaches. Sebastian spreads his arms. “Here.”

Arty frowns and shakes his head. “No,” he says, staring at Sebastian as though the other man is unhinged.

“Now, Arty,” Sebastian says, hardening his tone.

Arty shakes his head, watching Sebastian nervously.

“Do I need to start counting?” Sebastian asks.

Arty glares. “I'm not a child!” he exclaims.

Sebastian raises his brows. “One...”

“No!” Arty snaps, stalking towards him angrily. “No, you do not get to-”

“Two, Arty.”

Arty shoves Sebastian, but the bigger man grabs his wrists and spins him around until Arty's back is pressed against Sebastian's chest. “Shh,” Sebastian says gently.

Arty thrashes.

“You're alright, Arty,” Sebastian says in a soothing voice.

Arty quivers and stamps down on Sebastian. Their feet are bare and Arty's light, so it doesn't hurt much. Sebastian does not adjust his hold. He waits.

Arty heaves a frustrated breath, his chest stinging.

“We good?” Sebastian asks.

“No we are not good,” Arty snaps.

“What's the matter?” Sebastian asks calmly.

“ _You're_ what's the matter!” Arty retorts. He twists around to see Sebastian and snaps, “I don't believe your fucking hero complex, okay?”

“Oh so I've got a complex now, have I?” Sebastian replies, his voice low and amused.

“Don't fucking laugh at me,” Arty says dangerously.

Sebastian quite possibly loses his mind for a moment and leans close to Arty's ear to whisper, “Make me.” He lets go.

Arty freezes for an instant then spins around furiously, his fists clenching. “What are you playing at?” he spits.

“I'm not the one playing at anything,” Sebastian says. “If you're angry at me, show me.”

Arty's gaze flickers but he steps away instead of closer. “I'm not anything,” he mutters.

“Try again,” Sebastian replies evenly.

Arty flashes him a dark look. “I hate you.”

“No, you don't,” Sebastian replies without doubt.

“Oh, is this another moment where you tell me what I like?” Arty retorts, his voice raw.

“You didn't complain when I slapped your arse at the hotel,” Sebastian points out. “What made what happened in the cab any different?”

“You used your hand at the hotel!” Arty snaps. “And you paid me well for my time.”

“That's not what you're mad about,” Sebastian replies dryly.

“Don't tell me what I-!”

“Don't lie to me then,” Sebastian interrupts softly, frowning a little.

Arty feels his stomach churn. He snarls, “Don't take the moral high ground!”

“I'm not,” Sebastian responds calmly. “I shouldn't have punished you like I did, but if you don't explain why not, how can you expect me not to overstep again?”

“I don't expect anything from you,” Arty snaps.

“You do,” Sebastian responds, “or else you wouldn't be so mad.”

Arty's gaze flickers. “That's nuts. You can't seriously expect me to believe that I-”

“That you feel somehow betrayed by getting your cute little arse spanked for almost killing us?” Sebastian finishes dryly. “I know, it sounds ridiculous to me too.”

“I didn't almost kill us,” Arty responds.

“You choked the driver!”

“There weren't any cars close enough to hit,” Arty retorts. “You think I'm stupid? I timed that perfectly.”

“You're not stupid; you're insane,” Sebastian responds.

“And you're not?” Arty sneers. “Who takes a hairbrush from a taxi driver and thrashes someone with it?”

“I misjudged the situation,” Sebastian replies, “but I had just had two pretty nasty shocks from you in quick succession and was running on little sleep. I still gave you plenty of opportunities to say no.”

“You could have just gotten out the car,” Arty says bitterly.

“And you could have asked me to stop,” Sebastian says.

Arty heaves a deep breath and presses his lips together, frustrated that Sebastian does not understand how unpractised Arty is with that phrase. “That's not- It's not the point.”

Sebastian licks his lips then says something which gives Arty pause. “So take it out of my hide.” 

Arty's gaze flickers, his stomach fluttering in a way he does not want to acknowledge. “It doesn't work that way.”

“Then you best figure out what does work for you, Arty, because I'm not going anywhere,” Sebastian declares.

Arty is silent, shivering.


	10. Artistic Death

Arty had retreated upstairs after their altercation, and refused the day's final does of painkillers. Sebastian had not held out much hope for a warm reception at bedtime, but had not expected that refusal. It came as a relief that Arty was persuaded to take the antibiotics.

The resultant pain from the refusal makes Arty unable to sleep. He does his best not to draw attention to himself and let Sebastian find slumber, but his subdued restlessness and distress sing along Sebastian's nerves.

The disgraced soldier tolerates this for two unpleasant hours then sits up in bed. Arty lies facing away, fidgeting almost imperceptibly beneath the covers.

“Take the bloody tablets Arty,” Sebastian intones.

The brunette keeps his face turned away. His frown deepens. “Keeping you up, am I? This isn't the only bed you know.”

“It's not my sleep I'm worried about,” Sebastian grumbles. “You're blatantly in pain: take the painkillers.”

“No,” Arty mumbles.

“Why not?” Sebastian asks in an exasperated voice.

“They fuzz up my head,” Arty mutters.

“Being in pain isn't going to fuzz up your head less,” Sebastian protests. “Have you looked at the packaging? They didn't start you out on the baby dose; you're on strong meds because you need them.”

“I don't need anything,” Arty retorts, turning around with a glare. “I can cope with a bit of pain.”

“But you don't have to,” Sebastian states firmly.

Arty sneers and gets out of bed, intent on hiding out in one of the smaller bedrooms.

Sebastian reaches out and catches Arty's hand. Arty freezes and looks down before twisting out of the light grasp. 

Sebastian's arm remains outreached for a moment, the sensation of Arty's racing pulse still ghosting upon his fingers. He draws his arm back.

Arty takes in the motion, his gaze flickering. His lower lip drops into a small 'oh' of contemplation.

“Please take your pain relief,” Sebastian presses softly.

Arty looks close to tears, and Sebastian can only surmise the pain of the deep slashes is significant.

“Fine,” Arty whispers.

Sebastian's mouth spreads into a genuine smile that makes Arty frown with confusion.

“What do you want to drink with them?” Sebastian asks brightly.

Arty shrugs. “Water will do.”

Sebastian snatches up the glass by Arty's side of the bed and trots through to fill it with cool water.

Arty blinks and shuffles towards the box of tablets. Although always stubborn, he is relieved to have been persuaded. He bloody hurts, and it's all he can do to suppress the shudders as he forces back the persistent urge to cry.

Sebastian returns promptly with the water. Arty knocks back the pills, ignoring how the cool water can't quite ease the burn from the back of his throat.

“Thanks,” the brunet mutters.

Sebastian stares.

“Oh, shut up,” Arty grumbles.

“I didn't say anything,” Sebastian protests softly.

“Your face says enough,” Arty explains.

“Sorry,” Sebastian states mildly.

Arty huffs, placing down the glass and pulling back onto the bed.

Sebastian steps around it and sits down on the mattress. “Want me to wait up until you feel better?” he asks.

Arty looks at his feet. “Don't bother; get some sleep.”

“You sure?” Sebastian asks.

“I'm fine,” Arty says. “Well. I will be fine.”

Sebastian slides down on the bed as though to sleep, but Arty knows the man remains awake quietly until Arty himself is dreaming.

They both sleep late, but Sebastian is pleased upon waking to discover Arty has scooted over to Sebastian's own side of the bed during the night (yet again).

Sebastian's bladder complains, but he ignores it in favour of prolonging Arty's sleep. Even though Arty is drooling on Sebastian's chest, ignorant of the scar tissue under the vivid ink.

Sebastian cannot bring himself to mind the saliva. The pressure of Arty's slighter body on top of Sebastian's own please the ex soldier in a way he knows is dangerous.

The bandages on Arty's forearms rub against Sebastian's skin. Sebastian wraps his fingers lightly in Arty's own, feeling safe in the knowledge that Arty is asleep.

Arty does not wake for an age, and Sebastian pretty much dives to the bathroom the moment the boy sits up.

Arty wipes wetness from his mouth and wonders why he keeps finding himself on top of Sebastian. The young man is not a trusting sleeper, nor comfortable being tactile. He looks around as Sebastian returns, looking relieved.

“Sorry,” Sebastian apologises. “Couldn't wait.”

Arty gives him a quizzical look. “Was I trapping you?”

Sebastian smiles with amusement, as Arty's too light to pin him without Sebastian's consent. “I just didn't want to wake you,” he shrugs.

Arty's gaze is unreadable.

“You ready for your meds?” Sebastian asks, recognising Arty's need for a distraction.

Arty agrees quickly, wanting to avoid last night's pain levels very much, and Sebastian is relieved at the lack of protest.

“What do you want to eat with it?” Sebastian asks.

Arty stretches out a little, careful of his wounds. “Anything. I could help you, if you like?”

Sebastian blinks at the offer. His voice is warm when he responds, “You can help me later. Right now I just want you to get all the rest you need, alright?”

Arty nods softly, sliding down into the space Sebastian vacated. It's warm, and smells like Sebastian, not that strange familiar scent from the other day.

Sebastian smiles at the relaxed look on Arty's face and heads downstairs.

Arty drowses whilst he waits, and upon Sebastian's return he cannot help but admit to himself that he enjoys the sight of Arty in his bed.

Arty rouses as Sebastian sits on the mattress, one side creasing down to accommodate the weight.

“Here,” Sebastian says gently, “plenty of nutrition in this to keep you strong.”

Arty takes the food, his gaze flickering from Sebastian to the crockery, and eats obediently. Sebastian tilts his head at the sensation of being watched, but pops the tablets from their blister packs efficiently.

Arty finishes and takes the pills without complaint.

“Your bandages need changed today,” Sebastian announces blandly, hoping that yesterday's resentment will not keep Arty from accepting help.

Arty merely nods. “When suits you?”

“I'm free all day,” Sebastian states.

Arty does not want to examine why that comment pleases him. It's hard enough ignoring his aching body without tolerating his turbulent mind. “Do you mind if I sleep a bit more?” the brunet asks.

“You can sleep all day if that's what you need,” Sebastian declares. "We can bandage you up tonight."

“Will… will you stay?” Arty requests bravely.

Sebastian's face reads surprise for a moment, but he quickly schools it into casual acceptance. “Of course.”

Arty isn't sure why, but that helps.

However, it does not help enough to prevent a nightmare. Sebastian shakes the unmarked piece of Arty's shoulder, disturbed by the way Arty's forearms raise defensively in the troubled sleep.

Arty is pale when wakened, but does his best to pretend he is unshaken.

“I'm here,” Sebastian reminds him soothingly.

Arty looks across quickly, and considers for a beat. 

Sebastian gazes at him in fond concern.

Arty blurts, “My real name… it's… Jim.” 

Sebastian blinks and digests that information as though it's not surprising to hear. He had not expected the teen to give up personal information easily, but he does not want to stress 'Jim' out by reacting thus.

“Got a second name to go with that?” Sebastian asks.

“Moriarty,” Jim says clearly. “Jim Moriarty.”

Sebastian considers. “Mori- like _memento mori_?”

Jim's thin lips curl up a little in a smile. “I guess so.”

“Moriarty,” Sebastian muses. The way he says it makes Jim's stomach twist in a way he might just like.

“That's kind of like 'artistic death',” Sebastian comments. “Little spook.”

Jim gives him a sidelong look, his lips still a little twisted at the corners. “You know what day it is, right?”

“No,” Sebastian says. “Other than the day you told me your name. Why?”

“You might not want to call me a spook on Hallowe'en,” Jim suggests.

Sebastian snorts. “You're right: you look far more like a vampire.”


	11. Shopping

Sebastian finds himself smiling as he hears Arty -Jim- bounding down the stairs. The teen is wearing those awful striped bottoms again. They make him look like an urchin -which he kind of is- but they also accentuate the line of his jutting hips and the curve of his distracting arse.

Jim's lips twitch, his eyes amused, as he notices Sebastian's attention. Sebastian looks down at the soup he is preparing for later.

“You can look, you know,” Jim says playfully.

“If I look too much I'll want to touch,” Sebastian mutters, taking out a knife and making quick work of the vegetables on the chopping board.

Jim sits down on the nearest stool. “And?”

“And you're here to recover, not be letched upon,” Sebastian replies airily, scooping up the vegetables and dropping them into the waiting pot.

“Can't I have both?” Jim asks, picking up an escaped fragment of red pepper.

“Stress isn't going to make you heal quicker, and you can hardly be expected to feel safe around me if I'm making use of you,” Sebastian tells the steam rising from the pot.

“You're alright,” Jim says carefully.

Sebastian grunts and reaches into the fridge, pulling out a tray of mushrooms. “Eat,” he says, moving to the other counter to put the lid on the pot.

Jim stares at the mushrooms, feeling that he's missed something. “I don't-”

“You said you'll eat anything, and those will keep your strength up. Antioxidants, Vitamin B, niacin, selenium.”

Jim shoves one in his mouth dubiously, unsure what some of those are.

Sebastian glances at him. “If the problem is that you're restless, we could stretch your legs for a bit.”

Jim swallows the mushroom quickly. “What?”

“Feel like a walk?” Sebastian asks. 

Jim is listening alertly, having been confined to two floors for far too long. “Where?” he asks immediately.

“I could take you shopping along Regent and Oxford Street,” Sebastian suggests. “Or if you think you could manage it I could take you to Soho for something to eat?”

Jim's eyes are wide, and he looks tempted, but he reluctantly admits, “I don't think I could manage as far as Soho yet. Like I know it's not that far, I-”

Sebastian puts up a palm calmly. “Hey, relax, it was only a suggestion. It's your choice what we do, and you dictate what you feel strong enough for.”

Jim stares at Sebastian and wonders whether the other man knows how unusual and appreciated Jim finds the sentiment.

“I think I'll need to borrow some clothes from you again,” Jim smirks.

Sebastian rolls his eyes, surmising from Jim's tone that the brat remembers how fuckable Sebastian had found him in that shirt. 

“I'm buying you clothing that fits when we're out,” Sebastian declares.

Jim's lower lip drops a little and he slides off of the seat to run a pale hand over his pert arse. “What? Are you saying these don't fit just right?”

Sebastian points a utensil at the teen, resisting the urge to swat Jim with it. “Those aren't clothes; they're rags.”

“You have no manners,” Jim sniffs haughtily, amusement creasing the corner of his bright eyes.

“And you have no clothes, but we can rectify that one,” Sebastian responds wryly. He turns the soup to a lower heat and gestures towards the stairs. “Come on.”

“You just want me undressed,” Jim teases, walking on ahead.

“Hardly,” Sebastian retorts. “Have you any idea how torturous it is looking at your arse and not sticking my face in it?”

Jim laughs and slaps his own rear lightly. “A true tragedy.”

Sebastian laughs richly and follows Jim upstairs.

Jim approaches Sebastian's wardrobe and tries not to look too hesitant about opening it. Sebastian watches, feeling a strange sense of warmth as Jim begins to rummage through the clothes.

Jim checks labels and sizes quickly, managing to root out a tiny pair of jeans that Sebastian has not been able to throw out for sentimental reasons. Sentimental reasons being how exceptionally depraved the night was when these were last thrown to the floor.

Sebastian is about to fetch a teeshirt from his drawer when Jim pulls down a casual shirt. It's burgundy: an odd gift from Sebastian's mother that neither fits Sebastian's frame nor compliments his complexion. Jim's so pale Sebastian would never have thought of the shirt, but when Jim pulls it on Sebastian is glad he never threw the thing out.

“You look good,” Sebastian confesses, his mouth dry.

Jim arches one brow. “I look _fantastic_.”

“You do,” Sebastian agrees. Jim smirks at him and shoves on his hellish trainers before heading downstairs. Sebastian puts on far less tatty footwear and quickly catches up.

Despite Jim being very visually distracting, Sebastian remembers to switch off the hob before leaving, thus avoiding burning down the apartment.

There's a strange energy between them in the lift. Excitement and nervousness coils both men's stomachs as though the possibility that Jim might do a run for it worries them both, despite the thrill of being outside together. 

Jim is excited just to be outdoors again, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a little boy being taken for a treat when he's supposed to be grounded. Sebastian leads right onto Savile Row and turns onto Regent Street, trying not to focus to much on the worry that Jim might bolt.

“We're more likely to find you a suit if we head towards the Piccadilly end,” Sebastian suggests.

Jim startles slightly, lowering back onto his heels. “What do I need a suit for?”

“So that you don't look out of place in my lobby,” Sebastian explains dryly.

Jim rolls his eyes. “You don't think that's a waste of money?”

“Trust me, spending money on you is far less precarious than my usual pursuits,” Sebastian comments dryly.

Jim gives him a curious look, but Sebastian does not elaborate.

“Besides,” the older man continues, “There's a Lacoste at the other end of the street and an Adidas place on Oxford Street. You can have something you like if you can bear to part with those scabby black things you call clothes for any length of time.”

“Are you saying you have no sentiments for the first outfit you saw me in, and got me out of?” Jim asks with a wicked smile.

Sebastian's eyes sparkle. His voice is amused as he replies, “Did you notice I have restrained myself from burning them?”

Jim bites his lip, and Sebastian feels his heart stop for a moment. Jim comments, “Restrained yourself from a lot of things.”

“You're a lot more fun to be around when you're not running your mouth about how sexy you are,” Sebastian says dryly, hoping Jim hasn't noticed how the blood has drained from Sebastian's face.

“Are you saying you listen to me for something other than my accent?” Jim asks slyly.

Sebastian gives him a startled look. “I never even mentioned that!”

Jim smirks. “I still see that look in your eyes when I talk.”

“Brat,” Sebastian says fondly. He rolls his eyes, definitely picking the habit up from Jim.

Jim hums nonchalantly. “You know there's a Sports Direct up that way too, right?”

Sebastian sighs. “Like I know the difference? I haven't worn that crap since high school.”

There is silence for a beat as they both remember that Jim isn't far off school age, and Sebastian has been through his entire education. 

“It's not my fault you're not down with it, Granddad,” Jim teases.

Sebastian laughs and swears at him. “Remind me why I'm treating you?”

“Because you need a distraction from thinking about my arse?”

“Yeah… I haven't stopped that yet,” Sebastian admits ruefully.

Jim gives him a smug look. “I'm worth every penny.”

“We'll see,” Sebastian replies, herding the teen into the first shop he notices with suits in the window.

Getting Jim clothing that actually fits is easier said than done. Clearly Jim has never been fitted for anything in his life and the process agitates him. He is belligerent to the staff and whines at Sebastian, who reminds the brat that the measurements taken would be helpful to a coffin maker too.

“Death would be preferable,” Jim grumbles, running his hands over the bandages on his sore arms. “I hate being touched.”

Sebastian's eyes meet Jim's and they exchange a look that suggests Jim's profession is therefore unfortunate. Jim's posture stiffens in discomfort, but Sebastian says mildly, “You don't hate being touched; you hate being touched by people you don't trust.”

Jim raises a brow at him challengingly.

Sebastian's lips quirk. “Fine, you grump, you hate being touched by people you like too, because heaven forbid you should let yourself enjoy human contact.”

Jim sighs and throws his head back. “Why is this not over already? Why couldn't we have picked something off the rail?”

“Because you're particularly slender and anything off the rack is going to make you look like a little boy attending a relative's wedding,” Sebastian points out.

“Would that matter?” Jim huffs.

Sebastian gives him a faux stern look. “If you don't stop complaining I'll take you back to Conduit Street, make you get measured all over again, and get you something garish by Westwood.”

Jim sighs and rests his head against Sebastian's firm shoulder. “After this you're getting me ice cream,” he grumbles.

Sebastian laughs, and whilst the staff aren't looking, presses a soft kiss onto Jim's scalp.

“I didn't hear a yes,” Jim says into Sebastian's torso.

Sebastian grins. “If you're a good little boy you can have ice cream _and_ I'll let you stay up past ten.”

Jim swats Sebastian's muscular arm. “You're not funny.”

“Matter of opinion, Sasslips,” Sebastian smiles.

Jim looks up and tries to glare, but it looks more like a pout and Sebastian's heart tugs a little.

Eventually Sebastian has the awaited altered new clothing and lets a curious Jim lead along the streets.

Jim notices a board down a side street with friendly chalk writing and demands, “Here.”

Sebastian gazes at the menu. “I don't think they have ice cream.”

“No, but they've got licorice tea,” Jim explains, as though that is an obvious substitute.

Sebastian smiles and pushes the door open. “Whatever you like.”

“You know it, Sugar Daddy,” Jim mocks.

“ _Now_ who's not being funny?” Sebastian drawls.

Jim winks. “Maybe I'll let you punish me later.”

“Don't expect to drink your tea; I'm going to pour it over your head,” Sebastian grumbles back.

Jim's eyes merely sparkle in response, and he leans over the counter to order.

By the time they leave and head up to Oxford Street Jim is starting to wilt. They make it about as far as Hamley's before Sebastian pulls the brunette aside and says, “I think you need to rest.”

“I just did, in the tea place,” Jim protests, but he looks grey. His next dose isn't due for another hour, but today has been the most exercise he's had since he got injured.

“It's your choice: you can rest for a bit then keep going, or we can go home and come back a different day,” Sebastian offers.

Jim's eyes flicker when Sebastian says 'home'. He knows the man means his home, not their's, but it makes Jim press his lips together anyway.

“Home?” Sebastian surmises.

Jim nods.

It's not far, and they are soon sitting on the farcically large sofa in Sebastian's living room. Jim curls into Sebastian and naps.

The broad blonde wakes Jim gently when the next dose is due. The boy sniffs at the simmering soup and demands a taste, although an indulgent Sebastian explains as he ladles it out that it would taste better after cooking for longer.

Jim gives him a sarcastic look, his lips bent mockingly. “Because first day soup is obviously the worst thing I've ever eaten.”

Sebastian grins wickedly. “You haven't tasted it yet.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “You can't scare me.”

Sebastian's eyes glitter and he looks down. “You have no idea,” he mutters.

He brings Jim the warm bowl with a spoon and the tablets. “What do you want to drink?” he asks.

“I want bread,” Jim demands with a smirk.

“Yes sir,” Sebastian sarks back, his words softened by a smile. “And to drink?”

He doesn't miss the way Jim's eyes light up promisingly at the address. Jim sniffs, “Your finest glass of vitamin C.”

Sebastian fetches the bread and orange juice, ascertaining Jim is content before eating himself.

“Want me to do the dishes?” Jim offers afterwards.

“No, I want you to take it easy,” Sebastian replies. “And I don't want you to get your bandages wet either.”

Jim rolls his eyes and dumps his bowl on the coffee table. “Suit yourself.”

“What size of tracksuit are you anyway?” Sebastian asks.

Jim gives him a thoughtful look. “Hmm?”

“Men's small or boys' large?” Sebastian prompts. 

“Men's medium,” Jim retorts, sounding offended. 

Sebastian's sure that's a fib. If Jim had still been wearing his trampy tracksuit bottoms Sebastian would have yanked back the waistband to check. 

“Why?” Jim asks, scowling at the disbelieving look on Sebastian's face.

“I'll pick you up something when you take your next nap,” the blonde says warmly. He is definitely going to check the size first though.


	12. I Tell You, It's Going To Hurt

Jim's next nap would have lasted until bedtime if Sebastian had not woken the boy for the night's final dose of painkillers and antibiotics. Jim accepts them obediently, sleepily, and curls back up on the couch before Sebastian's even put the glass on the coffee table.

Sebastian is good at staying still and quiet for long bouts of time, and it comes in handy when Jim is still recovering like this. The moment Sebastian sits back down a half asleep Jim snuggles into him, and Sebastian can't deny that he enjoys having the drowsy brat fall asleep with his head on Sebastian's lap.

Sebastian rests one hand lightly on Jim's scalp, stroking the scruffy tufts of dark hair. Jim's skull is usually one of the only parts of the young man's body which is ever warm to the touch, heat escaping through the fine hair. Jim has cold hands, icy feet, and even his rump is often cool to the touch.

Sebastian feels blessed that he himself radiates heat. It seems to draw Jim, particularly in sleep, and Sebastian loves the proximity.

Jim shows no signs of waking, and it's getting late. The young man is slight and Sebastian is confident he can easily carry Jim up to bed, hopefully without breaking the boy's sleep.

Sebastian eases the limp arms around his warm thigh up to his chest slowly and lifts Jim onto his lap. Jim barely murmurs, his head dropping heavily to Sebastian's broad shoulder. Sebastian wraps his strong arms around Jim's back and thighs, standing slowly. Carefully.

Jim sleeps on.

Sebastian carries the sleeping brunet upstairs to bed. He doubts Jim weighs as much as sixty kilograms, maybe barely fifty, and it's bizarre because most of Sebastian's work equipment weighs more than this.

Sebastian pulls back the duvet and lowers Jim softly to the mattress. It's unfortunate the boy is not wearing his usual outfit of those scabby bottoms and nothing else, because they would be less uncomfortable to sleep in, or easier to remove.

Sebastian would rather not undress Jim, but those jeans are too heavy to sleep in and the thick shirt too warm.

Sebastian gingerly undoes the denim fly and eases the thick jeans down slowly, wondering if the brat ever bothers with underwear. Sebastian dumps the jeans on the floor, looks around for that oversized teeshirt, and retrieves it from the rim of the laundry basket.

The black buttons of the burgundy shirt are small, numerous and awkward to unfasten, the button holes stiff and new. It takes Sebastian a while to get them undone, and he's surprised at how heavily Jim sleeps. The slightest movement used to wake him.

It's difficult to get the shirt off without disturbing Jim too much; Sebastian eases him up towards Sebastian's chest and carefully tugs the shirt down over Jim's shoulders, utterly desirous of the sleeves _not_ catching on Jim's bandages. They don't. 

It's equally awkward to get a teeshirt over Jim's flopping head and arms, but somehow Sebastian manages. He perseveres mainly because he suspects Jim would find it unsettling to wake in bed naked with no recollection of getting there.

The palaver is more tiring than carrying the kid up the stairs, and Sebastian settles down beside the boy. Normally Jim always moves from his side of the bed, to the middle, to Sebastian's side, resting against or on top of Sebastian's chest. Tonight Sebastian encroaches on Jim's side a little.

As Sebastian wakes in the morning to Jim behaving in his usual limpet fashion, it can't have bothered Jim that much.

Jim is predictably a bit perplexed upon waking to find himself in bed wearing something different, but he's more interested in Sebastian being snuggled up on _Jim's_ side of the bed. If Jim had woken thus in any other bed he would have been more concerned, but he doesn't need to catalogue the lack of pain in his head or rear and the lack of a bad taste in his mouth to know that Sebastian would never take such an advantage.

“What are you doing on _my_ side of the bed?” Jim asks, leaning playfully towards Sebastian's ear and ignoring the uncomfortable pressure that puts on his painful chest.

Sebastian's clear blue eyes focus on him and his mouth stretches into an amused smile. “Since when is the whole bed _not_ your side of the bed?”

Jim settles against Sebastian's torso, still ignoring the sting of his chest wounds. He smiles cheekily and tells Sebastian, “I'm glad you recognise the way things are.”

Sebastian puts his strong arms around Jim gently, spreading heat up Jim's lower back. “Oh, I do, Boss.”

Jim's lips twitch and his eyes burn in a way that makes Sebastian swallow.

Jim looks behind himself. “Good morning to you, too.”

Sebastian presses his eyes closed in frustration. “Oh, shut up. That look of yours probably works on everyone.”

“Scares a lot of people, actually,” Jim comments.

Sebastian glances at him for a moment. “I don't scare easily.”

“I've noticed,” Jim states. “So… Are you going to put that to use, or..?”

“It'll go away if you stop giving it attention,” Sebastian remarks dryly.

Jim squirms tauntingly, drawing attention instead to his minimal clothing. “What if I don't want to?”

“No sex for you; you haven't had breakfast,” Sebastian states, extracting himself from under the brat and heading downstairs.

Jim quickly follows. “Does that mean I can have it _after_ breakfast?”

“It does not,” Sebastian denies archly.

Jim pads over to him with a wicked, playful expression. He presses against Sebastian's hip.

Sebastian sighs, making no move to push Jim away, but picking up a spoon and lightly tapping the brat's nose with it. “Daddy's going to have to spank you if you don't stop being such a tease,” he warns wryly.

Jim snickers. “You're Jeeves and you know it, 'Daddy.'”

Sebastian presses a quick kiss onto Jim's forehead, trying to ignore how the action stretches out Jim's grin by a few molars. “And you're still an unequivocal brat, Jimmy-Boy.”

Jim pulls back and makes a face. “Don't call me Jimmy.”

Sebastian keeps one arm around Jim as he starts to reach for breakfast items with the other. “Why not?”

“My Mam called me Jimmy,” Jim mutters.

“Did you give her as much trouble as you give me?” Sebastian asks, amused.

“I was a good boy,” Jim protests unconvincingly.

Sebastian ruffles Jim's hair as though the boy isn't practically a man. “Ah, so you're only bratty for your nursemaid slash butler?”

Jim leans up a little bit to rest his chin on Sebastian's shoulder. “Something like that.”

Sebastian sticks the tip of his tongue out in response. Straightening up so that Jim steps back from his shoulder, Sebastian declares, “There's a present for you beside the couch. Go look at that and let me make our breakfast.”

Jim gives a small, confused frown. “Present?” he repeats gruffly.

“You were too sleepy to get it last night, remember?” Sebastian explains.

“I didn't realise you went back out,” Jim murmurs, but extracts himself slowly and crosses over the floor to retrieve the bag.

There's an uncomfortable tightness in Jim's stomach as he lifts it up. He knows there is a new tracksuit inside, but there's still something surprising about the experience. He's not used to this.

Jim opens the bag with a guarded expression, trying not to look like he's affected.

There's a brand new black tracksuit inside with white stripes just like Jim's own, except this is legally bought and paid for, and isn't falling to bits. The zipper of the jacket is slightly open, proclaiming Jim's actual size and not the one he told Sebastian.

“Is it right?” Sebastian asks.

Jim nods quietly. He puts down the gift and trots over to Sebastian.

Sebastian glances up at him, bent over the oven grill. “Careful the fat doesn't spit at you,” he warns.

Jim doesn't move. Sebastian gives him a look and stands, nudging Jim over to a safer distance. “It's not just your legs that are bare,” Sebastian reminds Jim pointedly.

“Let me say thank you,” Jim blurts awkwardly.

“What?” Sebastian mutters, pushing Jim gently back a bit further and grabbing the oven gloves to retrieve the tray of crisp bacon. “This as dark as you want it?” Sebastian asks, putting the tray down.

Jim pulls Sebastian closer by the waistband and reaches for Sebastian's fly.

Sebastian quickly encloses his hands around Jim's thin wrists. “What are you doing?” he protests.

“I want to say thank you,” Jim repeats, tilting his chin upwards defiantly.

“It didn't come with strings attached,” Sebastian says firmly.

“Exactly,” Jim says pointedly.

Sebastian sighs. 'We've talked about this. For the next few days you're my guest not my whore, and I don't make my guests suck me off before breakfast.”

“You're not _making_ me; I want to,” Jim declares.

“Duly noted, now go sit down,” Sebastian commands. “I need to feed you so you can have your tablets.”

“Then can I blow you?” Jim asks dryly.

Sebastian puts his large hands on either side of the young man's face. “Jim. _Arty._ Enough. That's not what you're for.”

“Then what am I for?” Jim demands.

“Not that,” Sebastian says firmly. “Now sit down before your food is cold, congealed and gross.”

“Sebastian...” Jim protests.

Sebastian pushes Jim onto a stool and quickly puts a bacon roll into the young man's hand.

“Sauce,” Jim says dully.

Sebastian fetches it patiently.

“I don't know how else to make you happy,” Jim sighs.

Sebastian presses his broad chest against Jim's narrow back and curls his arms loosely around him. “Jim,” he says warmly, “you make me happy just by being here.”

“But I don't contribute anything,” Jim protests.

Sebastian gestures to the decadent room. “Does it look like I ever want for anything?”

Jim makes an unconvinced noise.

Sebastian kisses the boy's ear. “Eat your breakfast.”

Jim sighs but brings the roll to his mouth. Sebastian fetches his own. “Still warm?” he asks.

Jim nods.

Sebastian lightly kisses the side of Jim's broad forehead, easing the frown there a little, and proceeds to eat.

After Jim has taken his medicine Sebastian stretches. “Come on,” he says. “Let's do your bandages.”

Jim follows, but having Sebastian touch him so closely and carefully makes the feelings worse, especially when his teeshirt is now spread over his naked lap.

Sebastian turns from disposing of the used bandages and leads Jim out of the bathroom. “Anything you want to do today?” he asks. “Get shoes maybe?”

“I've told you what I want to do,” Jim says pointedly, throwing the top back into the laundry basket.

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “Well we're not doing that, I told you.”

“It's not taking advantage if I _want_ to,” Jim insists.

“Put some clothes on, Jim,” Sebastian protests.

“But I'm good at it; you know I am. I don't have anything else to give you, but you know you'll like what I can do,” Jim blurts. “You will!”

“That's not the point, as I've said,” Sebastian states firmly.

Jim sighs, the tilts his chin in defiance. He trails his hand down to his cock and touches it slowly. His brows arch challengingly.

“Stop that; at least wait until I've left the room,” Sebastian complains.

Jim is blocking Sebastian's path downstairs. “I think this shows my clear consent,” Jim declares. “So I'll give you the choice: do you really want to leave, or do you want to watch? Do you want to join in?”

Sebastian's chest heaves as he inhales, then licks his suddenly dry lips. “That's not going to end well for you.”

“Why not?” Jim asks in a deliberately husky voice.

Sebastian indicates the lacerations all over Jim's abs. “They're going to hurt like a bitch when you thrust and cum.”

“How would you know?” Jim asks derisively, his hand not moving from his leaking shaft.

Sebastian sighs and bares his chest.

Jim stares hopefully.

“Come here,” Sebastian declares.

Jim obeys, and Sebastian gently swats Jim's hand from his member. Uncomfortably, Sebastian states, “Close your eyes and stroke my tiger, starting from where my nipple should be.” 

Jim is about to ask whether that's a euphemism, but suddenly notes one nipple really is missing; merely a tattooed presence on Sebastian's chest. Jim brushes his fingers over the vivid tiger tattoo, feeling significant scar tissue underneath, skillfully disguised. 

Sebastian shivers in evident discomfort.

“Touch as low as you can without grabbing my cock,” Sebastian says. “You'll find I know exactly what I'm talking about when I tell you it's going to hurt to cum.”

Jim rests his fingers on the buckled skin. There are three broad scratches that narrow into nothing, the lowest near Sebastian's hip. The scratches might just be deeper than most of Jim's stab wounds. Sebastian evidently does know what he's talking about.

“What happened?” Jim asks.

“I followed a rather cross kitty down a drain,” Sebastian says quietly.

Jim's eyes flick down to the scars, possible to see now he knows where to look. “A cat didn't make those,” he states with certainty.

“Was a pretty big cat,” Sebastian mutters.

Jim considers the big cat tattoo and the scars, his desire not remotely diminished. “I like a bit of pain anyway,” Jim confesses. 

“So do I,” Sebastian states, “but not pain like that. You won't like it.”

“I might,” Jim insists. He presses his groin against Sebastian.


	13. Electricity

It did hurt. Considerably.

Jimmy with tears in his eyes and cum dripping down his fresh bandages is a sight that will stay with Sebastian for quite possibly forever.

Jim had whimpered prettily the more he thrusted, the predicted pain across his stomach growing unbearable but the building pleasure too insistent to resist. It had gotten Sebastian harder than granite, and the brunet had noticed.

Jim's hips had spasmed hard when he came between their torsos, and it had hurt, it had hurt, it had hurt, even with the pleasure coursing through his nerves. He'd screamed, in joy, and shock, and pain, and something primal and unnamed.

Sebastian's ears rang from the noise and it was hard not to chain Jim to the bed forever.

It changes something. There's a dimension of honesty and intimacy and embarrassment between them that wasn't quite defined before.

Yet now they know.

They know that Jim crying can send all the blood directly to Sebastian's prick, and that biting Sebastian's lip bloody is all it takes to make the blonde drop to his knees submissively.

The extra charge between them is not discussed afterwards; the young men just gaze at each other assessingly and stay close.

It's almost as if nothing happened by the time Sebastian changes Jim's bandages again, except it's not. Before all their contact carried a warm glow, but now every touch is electric. It's disconcerting but speaks of promising things to come.

When night rolls around Sebastian pulls Jim close, and the brat cuddles right in. Heat radiates from Jim's neck and it takes Sebastian a few moments of stroking the hot skin to realise his bed partner is blushing.

“Oh, _this_ you find scandalous?” Sebastian whispers into Jim's scalp.

Jim wriggles a little. “Don't start,” he huffs into Sebastian's warm chest.

Sebastian kisses Jim's hair. “It's not my fault that you're cute.”

Jim lifts his head only high enough to expose his death glare. “I am terrifying to behold.”

“You're cuddly to hold,” Sebastian corrects. Ignoring the continued grimace from the brunet, Sebastian pulls Jim closer. 

Jim makes no resistance. It's only his exhaustion that makes his eyelids droop when his torso still aches persistently. Sebastian's proximity is soothing and welcome.

Jim is the first to rise, and wakes Sebastian through his restless fidgeting.

Sebastian pulls him out of bed. “Come on,” he says sympathetically. “Let's get you more painkillers.”

Jim nods, not bothering to pull on any clothing. His staples catch the light as he follows Sebastian wearing nothing but the bandages.

Sebastian himself is wearing close-fitting boxers which cling to him rather nicely as he reaches into a high cupboard.

Jim slides onto a breakfast stool and watches, swinging his feet a little. He feels more at home in the apartment than he ever has, but he fidgets, feeling more filled with energy than before.

Sebastian shoves instant porridge into the microwave, wanting to feed Jim nutritiously as soon as possible so that the brunet can take his meds.

Jim looks dubious, so Sebastian draws a smiley face with syrup into the food when he recovers it from the microwave.

“Really?” Jim asks, not quite hiding his grin. Sebastian smirks back and ruffles Jim's hair before feeding himself.

“Can we spend the day in bed again?” Jim asks.

“You're too bloody sore,” Sebastian snorts.

Jim sighs, but the arm resting across his aching stomach is a dead giveaway. “What are we gonna do then?”

Sebastian tilts his head thoughtfully and considers. “We could go to Chinatown,” he suggests. 

Jim looks at him. 

Sebastian explains, “I could pick up some ingredients and make you something proper for dinner?” 

“You think I'm strong enough?” Jim asks.

“If you managed all that exercise yesterday a little walk won't kill you,” Sebastian smirks. “Besides if you get tired out we can get a taxi back to here.”

Jim concedes, a little disappointed not to be getting carried back to bed, but equally relieved about giving his shredded abdominal muscles a break. 

As Jim eats he stares over an oblivious Sebastian's body, noting the marks he had never paid much attention to before. Sebastian has explained that septic took what was left of his mostly severed nipple (not mentioning that it was bound to get infected with a dead tiger lying on top of him for hours), but there are a few other curious scars Sebastian has given history to: a gunshot wound in the knee from time in the army, and an interesting dagger scar in back from a whore. There must be a story there, but Sebastian was not quick to tell it, merely making a joke instead. It makes Jim curious.

Sebastian takes away the empty bowls and fills them with water so that they won't be too congealed to clean later. He gives Jim a look that makes the boy straighten up in interest and asks, “Are you joining me for a shower?”

Jim perks up immediately. “Yes!” he agrees quickly.

Sebastian laughs at the brat's eagerness but pulls Jim from the seat and ruffles his short hair before nudging the young man towards the stairs.

Jim turns around, still walking. “Race you?”

“Take it easy,” Sebastian warns warmly. “Running up stairs will put you right out of action; I'll be putting you back to bed with a hot water bottle.”

Jim huffs, but Sebastian moves closer and squeezes his bottom a little. “Don't sulk; I'll make it up to you when you're better.”

Jim's mood improves a little. “You promise, Basher?”

Sebastian smirks and follows Jim upstairs. “Yes, as long as you want me to.”

“I want you to _right now_ ,” Jim grumbles.

“Well I'm afraid you'll have to be a brave boy and do without your Basher Special,” Sebastian commiserates with a curl of his lips. 

Jim tries to grimace, but it's more like a pout. Sebastian gives him a fond look in return and follows the brunet into the en suite.

Jim gives Sebastian a mildly curious look. Sebastian has helped Jim shower before, moving the shower head carefully to keep Jim's bandages dry, but has never properly joined Jim. “Can I help you undress?” Jim asks hopefully.

Sebastian snorts. “No, because you'll give me that look that makes me want to bend you over the bathtub.”

“Are ya telling me I have any looks that _don't_ make you want to bend me over?”

Sebastian makes a nonchalant noise and leans close to whisper, “Some of your looks make me want you to bend _me_ over.”

Jim takes advantage of the proximity to nip at Sebastian's thick lower lip with his sharp little teeth. Sebastian gives him a heated look, but pinches Jim's bottom and scolds, “Don't tease.”

Jim squirms, grinning, and wants to play further but Sebastian is reaching forwards to switch on the spray.

Sebastian turns and gives Jim a look, then drops his boxers and steps under the water.

“Now who's the tease?” Jim questions pointedly, accepting Sebastian's hands to pull him under the shower's stream too.

Sebastian gives him an amused expression, using his broad back to block water from reaching Jim's bandages. 

Water rushes through Jim's hair and narrows down to a trickle at the gentle point of his chin. Sebastian bends down to lick water from Jim's stubble.

Jim swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing. “You can't lick me and not fuck me,” he whispers.

“I am going to fuck you,” Sebastian replies. “When you're better.”

Jim is quiet for a moment, because surely 'better' is in two days' time, and Sebastian's not going to have any reason to keep Jim in Conduit Street once the doctor confirms that Jim's wounds haven't grown bigger or turned white or whatever.

Sebastian distracts Jim from his morose thoughts by beginning to wash Jim gently. Jim sighs and leans into the contact, wishing things didn't have to change.

Jim's bandages survive the shower, only a little damp when Sebastian wraps the young man in a ridiculously oversized, fluffy towel.

“Do you use this for baby elephants?” Jim comments.

“It's a bath sheet you uncultured swine,” Sebastian replies, licking water from Jim's forehead.

“You're definitely the tease,” Jim murmurs.

Sebastian smirks at him, grabbing a towel for himself, and nudging Jim through to the bedroom.

Jim inclines his head towards the closet, where his new suit is hanging. “Am I dressing to impress your door staff today?”

“Wouldn't you rather wear that black and white thing downstairs?” Sebastian asks knowingly.

“Maybe, but in that case you can't wear a suit,” Jim bargains, his eyes glittering. “I don't want people thinking you're my dad...”

“There's less than a decade between us; that wouldn't be physically possible!” Sebastian protests sourly.

“So why not dress like you aren't a grown up for once?” Jim teases.

“I am not wearing joggers to go shopping,” Sebastian sniffs. “Active wear is for the gym and mooching about with a hangover. Or, as you would know, wagging off school to drink underage.”

Jim snorts and crosses the room to open the closet. “I wish you had a onesie.”

Sebastian snickers. “I'm sorry, Sasslips, but not even one of your blowjobs could persuade me to go into Chinatown dressed that ridiculously.”

“Where is your sense of fun?” Jim asks, looking through Sebastian's jeans.

“Maybe you're not the only one cranky about his blue balls,” Sebastian responds.

Jim looks over at him and chuckles in amusement. “Good,” he says, “I'm glad it's not just me suffering.”

“Oh trust me; it's not just you,” Sebastian mutters. He looks over Jim's shoulder at the brunet's selection. “Yeah, they're not gonna fit anymore. I don't think there's room in them for my balls, never mind my arse.”

“In that case it's definitely these,” Jim states, holding them out over his shoulder for Sebastian to take.

Sebastian does not argue, and forsakes underwear because there's not going to be room under these jeans. He struggles into them, scowling at their skintight appearance.

“Don't ever throw them out,” Jim orders, his eyes sparkling appreciatively.

“These are going to cut off my circulation,” Sebastian grumbles. “Can I take them off now?”

“No way,” Jim snorts. “You are wearing them today. They are glorious.”

“You can distinguish the three brothers of my bulge in these jeans,” Sebastian complains.

Jim grins. “I did say glorious.”

Sebastian sighs and finds a top that will hang low enough to hide the worse from view.

“You're spoiling it,” Jim pouts.

“And you are spoiled,” Sebastian retorts fondly. He considers. “You're going to need to kneel and put my shoes on, because I don't think I can bend in these.”

“Why do you even have them if you don't wear them?” Jim questions, nonchalantly fetching Sebastian trainers.

“I lost a lot of muscle mass when I got shot in the leg and couldn't move about much,” Sebastian explains. “Never got around to throwing them out when I bulked back up.”

“Why not?”

Sebastian laughs. “They were loyal when I needed them.”

Jim gives Sebastian an interested look then heads downstairs to retrieve his own outfit. 

As he pulls it from the bag he notices there's a matching branded teeshirt there. He turns and gives Sebastian a look.

“You never got yours back from the hospital,” Sebastian shrugs, walking down the stairs slowly in his tight jeans.

Jim is still for a beat then quickly pulls on the new clothes, a little overwhelmed and lost for words.

“It's just a teeshirt, grow some bollocks,” Sebastian mutters.

Jim glowers at him, not truly cross.

It's odd being outside. Jim is getting stronger so the walk is not as difficult (Sebastian struggles more with those delicious jeans) but he is very conscious of how they appear together. In the apartment the two young men are typically in close proximity to each other, always touching, but Jim's not convinced that's appropriate outside, although Sebastian does sling his arm comfortably around Jim's shoulders.

It's nice, but Jim wants to go home and snuggle back up with Sebastian. The outside world is not interesting enough to compensate for the lessened intimacy.

Sebastian makes it interesting by telling stories as he gathers ingredients. Apparently his father travelled globally for work, so Sebastian spent a lot of time in servants' quarters learning miscellaneous things.

Jim starts to enjoy the outing, and doesn't mention when he starts to tire. Sebastian notices anyway, and leads Jim along to a taxi rank carrying bags of ingredients.

Jim wants to flop onto the couch when they get in, but he forces himself onto a stool instead, intent upon watches Sebastian cook. Sebastian takes the cue and crosses to the sink to wash his hands.

Jim is fascinated by Sebastian's swift dexterity as the man prepares various items, releasing tantalising scents into the air. Light catches and flashes against the blade in Sebastian's hand in time to the rhythmic noise of the metal hitting the chopping board.

Jim chews his lip thoughtfully.

Sebastian glances up, attuned to the brunet's emotions, but continues chopping blindly. “What's up?” he asks.

Jim continues to stare at Sebastian's hands for a moment, fascinated by how Sebastian manages not to sever a finger or four. He swallows and looks up. “Basher?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you think about knife play?”

The chopping noise stops at once, but electricity is in the air again. Sebastian gives Jim a guarded heated look and squares his shoulders as he points out, “And what are the hospital going to think if they see signs of that?”


	14. Remember, Remember

Sebastian sports some rather interesting bruises on Saturday and Jim cannot help admire them proudly. Sebastian pretends not to notice the attention but every now and then his lips curl into a wry grin.

“Shut up,” Sebastian groans at last, giving up all pretense of composure.

“I can't help it,” Jim protests. “The debauched look suits you.”

Sebastian glowers mildly, a faint pink blush rising up to meet the teethmarks near his throat. “Thought I told you to shut up?”

“You must have lost your authority somewhere around the time you were begging me to hurt you more,” Jim teases playfully, sounding very pleased with himself.

Sebastian huffs, subconsciously rubbing at some of the vivid marks. Jim continues to beam at him cheekily, and even as Sebastian scowls he cannot help how his eyes sparkle.

“Don't you think you're being a bit of a princess complaining about the state you're in when I'm the one covered in bandages?” Jim smirks.

Sebastian makes a derisive noise. “I know fine well if I'd let you play with my knives yesterday I'd be needing bandages of my own.”

Jim makes a face, tilting his head with an expression that is hardly innocent. “Would you have minded?”

Sebastian comes closer and gently cuffs Jim's jaw. “If you want me to trust you with my big boy toys you're going to need to stick around long enough to know my thresholds.” He steps over to the fridge, pouring out two glasses of reddish sludge and swiping the medication from the counter.

Jim watches Sebastian balance the items, breathing deeply to try to ease the tight feeling that started in his chest the moment Sebastian mentioned sticking around. That's even more thrilling than the knives.

Sebastian places the cold glass against Jim's hand until Jim's fingers curl around it securely. If he knows Jim's thoughts he does not show it, and Jim finds himself silently drinking some noxious smoothie with acai berries that Sebastian insists are a 'superfood' full of anthocyanins, whatever they are. 

Jim gives him a look at that, although it is a break from the dangerous talk, and Sebastian patiently explains that means they fight toxins. However, he takes pity on the grimacing Jim and takes a glass bottle out of the fridge. 

It looks like white wine to Jim, but Sebastian explains it is elderflower, which sounds hip and poncy, explaining that elder berries fight inflammation. Jim responds mockingly, which tempts Sebastian to throw some flavinoid-rich citrus fruit lightly at the brat.

Jim gets up and picks at yesterday's leftovers. Sebastian gives him an amused look, wondering if he should point out that the shredded cabbage making its way past Jim's lips is a source of immune-strengthening glutamine.

“I could heat that up for you, you know,” Sebastian comments.

Jim glances at him. “I'm not hungry enough.”

“Hungry enough to eat it.”

“The smell is tempting,” Jim explains.

Sebastian is pleased that Jim enjoys the food, but the expression in his blue eyes suggests he finds Jim more tempting.

Jim gives him a sultry look then continues eating with his fingers.

Sebastian curls up on the couch, drinking slowly. He aches in a number of places and he can't deny that it pleases him.

After a while Jim leaves the dish and flops contentedly onto the couch. “Are you too sore to… um...”

“To snuggle?” Sebastian finishes for Jim, sounding amused. There's a mocking crinkle at the corner of his eyes that Jim adores despite his embarrassment. “Never to sore to cuddle you, Sasslips,” Sebastian says richly.

“You're far too smug for someone with that many bruises,” Jim huffs, but he sidles closer.

Sebastian throws his arm around Jim's stiff frame, jiggling a little until Jim relaxes. The brunet pulls his legs up onto the couch and closes his eyes. Sebastian strokes a finger down the bridge of Jim's nose slowly, having discovered its soothing effect.

Jim is quickly asleep. The angle of his skull exposes a familiar scar that Sebastian has not paid much attention to before. He wonders its origin idly.

Jim wriggles down in his sleep, swapping Sebastian's chest for his lap. Sebastian strokes the warm scalp softly. Jim's naps are becoming shorter unless he is worn out, and Sebastian ponders how much time he has.

Sebastian eases out from under Jim and nips upstairs to find something that will cover the worst of the bruising. The vivid bite on his neck will just have to be bourne with a stiff jaw.

Sebastian steps over Jim's trainers, gazing at them for a moment before heading out. 

Jim is awake by the time Sebastian returns, but does not seem upset about being left alone.

“Where were you?” he asks curiously.

“We needed milk,” Sebastian explains, holding the new, cold carton aloft.

“And what's in the bag?” Jim asks archly.

“I don't know,” Sebastian says playfully, crossing over to the fridge and putting away the milk. “Maybe if you're a good boy you'll find out.”

Jim's lips spread in a sharklike grin. “I thought you liked when I'm not?”

“I like you always, but bad little boys don't get presents, do they?” Sebastian teases.

“Bad little boys _should_ get presents,” Jim comments, eyeing the plain bag with interest. It looks like there might be a box inside.

Sebastian laughs, rubbing his sore skin.

“Have you been bad enough?”

Jim smirks. “Do you need to look in a mirror?”

Sebastian smirks and approaches, holding out the bag. There _is_ a box inside.

Jim supposes it's shoes, but he has no idea what sort to expect. They could be utterly hideous and he'd still wear them happily.

Jim lifts the lid and stares at the gleaming white leather within. He notes the 'limited edition' text scrawled in a ridiculously 'urban' font in a repeat pattern inside the box.

He glances at Sebastian. “Did you just go in and find the most expensive shoes in the place?”

“Of course not,” Sebastian responds. “I asked what to get a teenage boy whose predominant characteristic is 'spoiled brat.'”

Jim's lips twitch but his awed gaze is drawn back down to the trainers. He's never going to be able to wear them on the street after he leaves Sebastian. They'll get stolen.

Jim's insides twist unpleasantly. He'll need to leave the trainers here after the hospital.

He's going to start thinking about going back to real life.

Sebastian notes Jim's tension. “They can get exchanged if you hate them,” he says quickly.

“I _love_ them, Sebastian,” Jim says firmly.

Sebastian blinks at use of his real name. “What's wrong then?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Arty.” 

Jim sighs. “I'm just going to miss you, that's all.” 

“I'm hardly kicking you out the door,” Sebastian mutters. The reminder that their time together is so limited makes him feel sick. 

He doesn't _want_ Jim to go, and especially not back to the streets. 

Both young men avoid looking at each other, recognising their affections is deep. They're wary of saying anything, and even more concerned that returning to hospital will mean parting permanently afterwards. 

Jim touches the scar on his head, and Sebastian realises it's a tell of when the brunet is stressed. 

The sky is getting dark, and although neither know what to say, Sebastian has an idea on how to change the mood. 

“Still into gun play?” Sebastian asks abruptly. 

Jim stares nakedly. If Sebastian won't let him play with knives yet then why the fuck is he asking that? 

“I remembered what day it is,” Sebastian explains vaguely, leading Jim through to one of the spare rooms. 

“Saturday?” Jim mutters, sparing a last glance at the trainers and following. Sebastian does not reply. 

Sebastian takes out a handgun and checks its insides quickly before closing it and handing it to Jim. It's heavy, and cold, and Jim is somewhat terrified. He's also painfully fucking hard, that electricity zinging through his blood. 

“If you hear a bang, you do what you like. If there's no bang, you do what I like,” Sebastian states, sitting down on the floor calmly. 

Jim swallows. “I don't want to kill you,” he says. 

“Then don't point it at my head,” Sebastian replies, his eyes glittering. 

Jim takes a deep breath. He thinks he might be sick, but he can also feel his cock leaking precum into his clothes. 

“Are you sure?” he asks. 

“Trust me,” Sebastian says in a strangely soothing voice. 

“Is this how you got that scar on your knee?” Jim asks suspiciously. 

Sebastian laughs. “No.” 

Jim sighs and points the gun at Sebastian's right shoulder. The one furthest away from the rather important organ known as the heart. 

He squeezes the stiff trigger of the unfamiliar gun. Sebastian watches him with a strange, seductive expression. 

Jim is painfully relieved when the gun doesn't go off properly. 

“Guess that one was empty,” Sebastian purrs. “Try again.” 

Jim shivers but trails the gun's barrel down to Sebastian's groin. The older man chokes out a sputtering laugh and mutters, “Well thank you very much.” 

“You're not scared?” Jim asks. 

“Fire,” Sebastian dares. 

Jim gives him a strange look, then does as he's told. 

He almost jumps out of his skin at the bang, giving Sebastian a horrified look, but then he hears the noise again. 

_Fucking fireworks._

It's only the fourth. 

Sebastian's eyes sparkle with amusement, and doesn't mention the firework show at the nearby park. Instead he says, “I guess you get to do what you like with me.” 

Jim scowls and rams the barrel into Sebastian's mouth, quickly pulling the trigger. 


	15. The Hospital Again

Jim is somewhat unsettled to wake somewhere other than Sebastian's bedroom, but he quickly relaxes upon recognising that the warm, strong chest beneath him is Sebastian's. Jim buries his face into Sebastian's skin, grounding himself in the comforting scent.

“I didn't know we'd progressed to the chest-sniffing level of our relationship,” comes an amused rumble.

Jim freezes, mortified to be caught in the act. “Didn't know you were awake,” he cringes, looking away to both avoid Sebastian's eyes and to hide the glowing red of his blush.

“Evidently,” Sebastian comments, sounding far too amused for Jim's liking.

“As you were,” Jim grumbles.

“How am I supposed to go back to be pretending to be asleep when I now know that's how you behave when you don't think I'm awake?” 

Jim pushes his forehead into Sebastian's ribs. “Shut up.”

Sebastian reaches softly for Jim's chin and turns the man's flushed face towards his own. Jim looks at Sebastian reluctantly.

“Your secret's safe with me,” Sebastian purrs.

“I hate you,” Jim sighs, lowering his jaw to Sebastian's collarbone.

“You don't,” Sebastian says comfortably.

Jim gives a glare that might have been more effective had he disentangled his toes from Sebastian's warm legs.

Sebastian strokes Jim's hair and Jim lets him.

“Your lips are burst,” Jim comments.

“Hardly surprising when you rammed a revolver in my mouth. I thought I was going to lose some teeth,” Sebastian responds warmly.

“You deserved it,” Jim says with certainty.

Sebastian laughs. “Did you not enjoy the game? It seemed like you did.”

“I may have,” Jim responds. He scratches Sebastian's sole nipple lightly.

Sebastian hisses, his skin broken and sore from their 'game'. “Brat,” he scolds, slapping Jim's bottom lightly.

Jim fakes a mewl and laughs at how Sebastian's breath catches.

“Brat,” Sebastian repeats with more force than before. He brushes his lips quickly over Jim's cheekbone then eases out from underneath him. Jim flops onto the warm space vacated, scratching a little at his uncomfortable staples.

Sebastian turns back around and swats Jim's hand firmly. “It itches because it's healing,” he rebukes.

Jim makes a noise of exasperation and inconvenience natural to teenage boys.

Sebastian points a chiding finger at him. “We've got the hospital this morning; you've lasted this long with your scabs you can control your hands for a few more hours.”

Jim huffs, but his eyes are more sad than annoyed at the reminder of the wretched hospital. “What sort of a hospital gives appointments on a Sunday anyway?” 

Sebastian quirks his lips, but his voice seems muted with reluctance too as he explains, “I think you scared the staff.”

Jim almost jokes that he could give the nurses another scare to drag things out until Monday, but the words die on his tongue. The joke's too close to the bone. He doesn't want to leave, or let things end, and he cannot possibly admit that.

“Come on,” Sebastian says. “Time to get up if we're going to be ready to promptly get a cab to Lambeth.”

“Portland would be closer,” Jim grumbles.

“So's King Ed's, but that doesn't mean you're getting to stay in bed: you need breakfast, pills, washed, dressed...” Sebastian fusses, pulling back the duvet and reaching for Jim's hands. Jim swallows, because Edward's hospital is private, and reluctantly lets Sebastian pull him to his feet.

“Besides,” Sebastian teases, “if I was going to take you elsewhere it would be the Welbeck: I could ask them to make you look like you're capable of smiling.” 

Jim doesn't really feel like laughing but he chuckles anyway. Sebastian glances at him, taking in the mild grimace, and leans close.

Jim freezes, eyes wide, as Sebastian's lips approach his own. They've never actually properly kissed, although Jim has bravely nipped Sebastian's bottom lip with his teeth a few times. Sebastian's breath smells like a fired gun and the smell is so familiar.

Sebastian kisses the side of Jim's mouth, feeling daring and reassuring. “Cheer up, I'm not taking you to get neutered.”

Jim feels crushed, then feels stupid for being hopeful. He fakes a grin and follows Sebastian downstairs.

“What do you want?” Sebastian asks.

Jim knows Sebastian means breakfast, but Jim's stomach coils and roils unpleasantly anyway. He tries to steel his expression into nonchalance, astonished at how out of practice he feels. “I don't care,” he mutters.

“Wow, you sound glad to be shot of me,” Sebastian comments, his voice not coming out as even as he intended.

Jim bares his teeth in a bland smile and reaches for his medication.

Sebastian pours him more of that elderflower stuff, which is alright honestly, and Jim accepts the glass stiffly.

“Are you okay?” Sebastian asks, looking perplexed.

“Just don't like hospitals,” Jim mutters.

Sebastian nods, but his gaze lingers on Jim before walking away. He puts out cereal and brings it to Jim. “Here, something light if you're feeling sickly. Let me know if you're hungry later.”

Jim glances up, wondering that mean 'if business is slow for a few days and you're starving.' It can't possibly mean 'we're coming back home after the hospital.' Jim eats slowly, trying not to brood. Why waste the little bit of time left?

As Jim finishes breakfasting Sebastian reaches out and brushes his fingers across Jim's jaw. “You could do with a shave,” he comments.

Jim stares back, and his fingers twitch from the urge to touch the mentioned stubble. Sebastian's never commented on it before, even though Jim has borrowed his razor every few days. Jim's growth isn't quick or heavy. “Why?” Jim asks.

“I promised to look after you,” Sebastian explains. “You're bloody well going to look presentable.” 

“You think I'm scruffy?” Jim asks.

Sebastian gives him a steady look. “I think that you're seventeen and your bristles are cute, but when I take you into St Thomas' I need you to be immaculate.”

“They don't care whether I've shaved,” Jim asserts.

“That's not the point,” Sebastian states, shaking his head and putting the near empty strips of tablets into Jim's palm.

Jim swallows obediently. “What is the point?”

“I don't know,” Sebastian mutters agitatedly. He paces like he's readying to meet his mother in law for the first time or attend a parents' meeting as a step father. 

“Relax. I'll go get ready,” Jim sighs, pushing away from the breakfast bar. He steps into the shower without Sebastian's usual hovering, and sorely feels the absence.

Sebastian hangs back, reluctantly telling himself that Jim will be managing on his own soon enough.

Jim wonders if 'presentable' means the suit, but he's not going to wear it. He's not coming back ever after this, and his tracksuit is far more practical.

Sebastian doesn't say a word about it. Jim shoves his feet into his dilapidated trainers. 

Sebastian merely fusses with his own collar.

The pair reluctantly get in the cab, barely speaking as they return to St Thomas' Hospital. Jim follows Sebastian listlessly.

Jim hardly listens to the doctor, although he really should because he's not going to have Sebastian to look after him anymore. Jim startles when his staples are removed, briefly breaking out of his daze, and Sebastian's hand takes Jim's as though the flinch was from fright or pain.

The concerned look in Sebastian's blue eyes hurts Jim. Sebastian also seems to be absorbing every word the doctor says, and that's cruel, because it isn't going to matter anything to Sebastian at all.

The doctor keeps on talking and Jim finally looks at her, his veneer of apathy mostly hiding the frustration and anger and misery underneath.

“You'll need to exercise your damaged muscles,” the doctor continues. He gives her a blank look. She starts to repeat herself then gestures flippantly, looking tired. “Never mind, your big brother was listening.”

Jim steadfastly avoids looking at Sebastian after that comment.

Jim is quick to leave the room once dismissed, a prescription for more painkillers zipped inside his pocket. Sebastian has to stride quickly on his longer legs to keep pace.

Jim's mood brooks no conversation in the hospital corridors, but he hesitates once they reach the pavement outside.

“Are you coming back home?” Sebastian asks carefully. “I did promise to make it up to you.”

“You don't owe me anything,” Jim says cuttingly.

Sebastian stares him down unflinchingly. “I'm not kicking you out.”

“I'm healing up; you don't have to worry about me now,” Jim states coldly.

“You don't need to be riddled with stab wounds for me to want to have you around,” Sebastian declares measuredly.

Jim's lip curls. “I'm not your pet project, okay?”

Sebastian yanks the collar of his own shirt down, exposing the marks he was so careful to keep hidden in the hospital. “D'you think I'd let you give me these if you were merely my fucking pet project?”

Jim blinks. “If you need a whore I'm sure that girl from the hotel would give you it for free,” he bites.

Sebastian stares at him for a beat. “Fuck you Arty. You know I don't treat you like just a whore.”

“You're right; you kidnapped me for ten days and didn't pay a fee,” Jim sneers.

Sebastian snorts bitterly. “And what good is money to you anyway? You'd rather sleep on the streets and risk your life and health selling your body to fill your scarred belly.”

“You can't fix me!” Jim screams, spit flecking Sebastian's shirt. “You can't just throw money at a problem and make everything perfect!”

“Were you happy?” Sebastian demands.

“Fuck you!”

“ _Were you happy?_ It's a bloody simple question,” Sebastian retorts.

“Of course I wasn't fucking happy, I-”

“ _Do not_ lie to me,” Sebastian states in a low, cold voice that makes Jim flinch at the authority.

“I-”

“Don't lie to me Jimmy I was fucking there...”

Jim swallows, scowling, curling his fingers, twisting, not knowing how to respond. He presses his fists into his eyes until he sees stars and snarls, “It doesn't matter!”

Sebastian leans close and insists. “You were happy. Weren't you?”

“That doesn't change anything,” Jim states through gritted teeth. He pushes his fists up into his hair.

“Were you happier as a whore?” Sebastian demands.

“What sort of a stupid question is that?”

“Just answer the question: do you like being a whore even though you hate being touched?”

“Shut up!”

“Do you like it? Do you like being forced? Do you like the cold? Do you like being pawed by people you wouldn't choose to give yourself to if not for the money? Do you like the isolation? Do you like the risks?” Sebastian continues rapidly.

“NO! I don't _fucking_ like it okay?” Jim exclaims. “But it's what I do.”

“You're happy living with me and you're safe. It's a fucking no brainer, Jim Moriarty.”

“That's not how it works,” Jim hisses.

Sebastian gives him a no nonsense look. “Just come home Arty. If you hate it you can leave.”

“What if I told you I hated it already?” Jim asks frostily.

“Then I'd know you were being a fucking liar and a petty child,” Sebastian responds swiftly. “Now man the fuck up: are you coming home?”

“It's your home not mine,” Jim states.

Sebastian sneers. “Not anymore. Not for ages.”

“Ten days isn't ages,” Jim says in a softer voice.

Sebastian mirrors his tone. “Ten days and counting.”

Jim swallows and stares at Sebastian for any hint of danger or dishonesty. “Are you sure you want me?”

“I feel like slapping you in the mouth right now but Jim I've never wanted anything more than to keep you safe and happy,” Sebastian says honestly.

“Why?” Jim asks, sounding tired and skeptical.

“Because you belong,” Sebastian says.

“But I'm exhausting and fucked up and-”

“Yeah, you can be, and you're also perfect. You're _perfect_ ,” Sebastian insists.

Jim stares at the blonde, not saying a word but breathing heavily, his gaze darting all over the place, and then he starts walking over to the taxi rank.

“Jim?” Sebastian calls questioningly.

“Are you coming or what?” Jim asks.

Sebastian follows instantly.

Jim is quiet in the car, thrumming his fingers in agitation along his seat. Sebastian does not interrupt.

“I annoyed the wrong people,” Jim announces abruptly.

“What?” Sebastian asks.

Jim meets his eyes and trails a finger silently down his butchered torso.

“Do they know you're alive?” Sebastian asks.

“Doubt it,” Jim says in a low voice.

“Then maybe Arty the whore is dead, and Jim Moriarty lives in Mayfair,” Sebastian suggests mildly. As Jim tries to formulate a response Sebastian continues, “But if you see them again? You tell me.”

Jim is quiet, because he gets the distinct feeling Sebastian just made a significant offer there.

“Jim?”

The brunet has no words, but he takes a deep breath and grips Sebastian's hand.

It's practically dusk by the time they get home. Winter is well on its way.

“I'm glad you came,” Sebastian states softly in the lift. Jim grunts, not trusting himself to speak.

The atmosphere in the apartment has changed again, some unfamiliar element hanging heavy in the air. Jim feels like he's in a bubble.

His trainers are still by the coffee table (no shoes on the table) and it's like a punch to the gut, but somehow kind of a good one.

“There's another fireworks show tonight,” Sebastian says carefully. “If you actually wanted to _see_ some this time.”

Jim nods slowly. He'll wear the trainers.


	16. Take A Deep Breath

Jim does not sleep well, feeling intensely stressed that things seem to be going too well. He almost resents Sebastian for offering him this.

Jim wants so much to stay.

Jim is also rather prone to self sabotage, and he knows it. He's so scared of losing what he desperately wants that he is tempted to walk out to prove that he doesn't need this.

Sebastian notes the turmoil. He is wary of provoking Jim's querulous and somewhat truculent nature this morning for fear that everything they've achieved yesterday will merely crumble. 

Jim notes Sebastian's attention and his jaw tenses, rolling in agitation.

“Good morning,” Sebastian greets carefully. It's the first time in a long while that he has not woken with Jim's legs tangled with his own.

Jim grunts, pushing himself off of the mattress and pulling himself to his bare, cold feet.

Sebastian is not a stranger to such moods. He's lived with other men (and boys) for almost all of his life. As such, Sebastian knows to be careful. He only asks the most anodyne of questions of Jim, like what he wants for breakfast. 

“I can sort it myself,” Jim mutters.

“I know,” Sebastian responds calmly. “I just like to do it.”

Jim gives him a look, wanting to reject Sebastian but feeling guilty about it. “Fine,” he mutters.

Sebastian gets up and pads downstairs, conscious of Jim's brittle energy. He prepares breakfast quickly and places it quietly before Jim.

The young man looks down. He seems torn.

“Want a coffee?” Sebastian asks. “You seem tired.”

Jim glances at him, because Sebastian clearly knows he barely slept a wink. And he still wants sleep.

“Tea,” he says carefully. “Milky.”

Sebastian turns easily to fill the kettle.

Jim's bellicose mood seems to recede somewhat but he is addled by emotions he feels ill-equipped to express. He clenches his hands on the breakfast bar until his knuckles show through as a whiter shade of pale. It is especially hard to admit (to himself, never mind Sebastian) that Jim desires Sebastian's approbation.

Honestly, he craves Sebastian's fucking affection.

Neither of them wants to bring up the paroxysms outside the hospital so they barely meet each other's eyes as Sebastian carries over the warm drink.

Jim thanks Sebastian softly, barely audible, then pulls away, carrying his drink over to the plush couch.

Jim is tempted to absquatulate but he can hardly leave now, because he needs to hold the scalding drink to his lips to hide their imminent trembling. 

Sebastian sits down a little space away, careful not to spill Jim's tea with the movement.

Jim's expression remains strained and circumspect. 

“Jim,” Sebastian says at last. 

The brunet looks up, jaw tight and eyes wide. 

“We're going out once you're dressed,” Sebastian asserts.

Jim's fingers twitch on the mug. “Where?” he asks.

“Somewhere to clear your head,” Sebastian declares with a gentleness underlying the firm tone. He hands Jim the new painkillers, dispensed yesterday.

Jim takes two and swallows them dry. “What should I wear?”

“Whatever you like,” Sebastian responds evenly.

“What are you going to wear?” Jim asks, staring into the steam of his tea.

“Anything you like,” Sebastian answers, giving Jim a small smile.

Jim chews his lip a little. It helps.

They sit together in what is almost a comfortable silence as Jim sips his burning tea. Eventually he pushes his mug onto the table and stands.

“That goes in the dishwasher or in the sink,” Sebastian scolds playfully, picking it up.

Jim swallows, tempted to ask Sebastian to punish him for it just to relieve the tension, but he can't bear the thought of Sebastian's hands on him just yet. It's too… fresh. Potentially emotionally ruinous.

Sebastian puts the breakfast things away neatly and follows Jim upstairs. The brunet is already showering, and returns to the bedroom in a towel.

A number of his shallower wounds no longer need bandages, and it's odd to realise Sebastian has gotten so used to the twinkle of staples that he actually looks around to see if the curtains are still closed, blocking the light.

Sebastian is further surprised to see Jim dressing in his new suit. It looks very good on him. Strangely natural.

“Get washed and get dressed; I'm not doing this for nothing,” Jim states imperiously as he fastens buttons.

Sebastian laughs. “Yes, boss.”

Jim's gaze flicks to him, that look in his eyes more muted than before but still telling. He smiles. “ _Now_ , Sebastian.”

Sebastian obeys with a grin.

He blinks upon returning to find Jim has laid an outfit for Sebastian on the bed. Sebastian's lips twitch. “I do like it when you're bossy.”

Jim rolls his eyes. It's a welcome sight. “Get dressed.”

Sebastian obeys, noting as he does that Jim isn't watching as he usually would. The teen seems uncomfortable as though he expects things to be ripped out from underneath him any moment.

Sebastian hopes he has the perfect distraction.

They take a cab, with Sebastian explaining their destination discreetly to the driver. Jim doesn't catch what he says, and apparently the driver knows the destination well enough not to punch anything into the sat nav.

They drive in the direction of the river and Jim is surprised when upon crossing over they approach the Sea Life London Aquarium. 

“Really?” Jim asks.

Sebastian encourages him out of the car. “Trust me.”

Jim makes a face. “I'm not a little kid.”

“Don't I know it,” Sebastian responds, then he nudges Jim in the direction of the entrance. Jim falls into step dubiously.

Sebastian places a guiding hand on Jim's shoulder and navigates them towards a particular tank.

“I lived in India for a while, and they had a lot of these sharks in their shallow, inshore waters. The ones with the black bits on their fins?” 

Jim blinks and looks at Sebastian, then the sharks. Black Tip Reef Sharks. Sebastian isn't usually forthcoming with his past, so Jim pays attention.

Sebastian leans on Jim conversationally and points to a female. “Someone told me most sharks are twins, but their first fight involves eating the weaker twin in the womb. So every shark born is a fighter.” 

Jim didn't know that, and he stares at the eerie creatures with interest.

Sebastian continues, “Supposedly Tiger Sharks will eat this kind, the Black Tips, but I've never seen one in the Indian Ocean. Reef Sharks will eat smaller sharks though.” There's a smile in his voice as he says 'tiger'.

“Over here, we call a human a shark. Loan shark. Card shark. In Hindi, they say 'thag.'”

Jim glances up at him, repeating the word softly as though he doesn't even notice it on his tongue. “What's 'tiger'?”

“There's a lot of different languages in India. In Hindi it's 'baagh'. 'Waagh' in Marathi. In Telugu, Tamil and Malayalam it's 'puli'. And 'huli' in Kannada.”

“How many languages do you speak?”

“Fluently? A few. But I made it my business to know how the locals said 'tiger'.”

Jim considers Sebastian's scars and the blonde can see the wheels turning. “When you said 'big cat'..?”

Sebastian hums nonchalantly in a telling way.

“Is that the only time?” Jim asks.

“That I've 'met' a tiger? No. There's good money in tigers.”

Jim looks like he might ask questions, so Sebastian adds, “European tigers are interesting.”

“There are tigers in Europe?” Jim asks dubiously.

“Only in zoos and certain private collections. But the word for 'tiger' in nearly every European language is recognisable. “Tigar', 'tigris', 'tigre', 'tigras'. 'Tiikeri' is a little less obvious but it's still not far off. In the rest of the world? Asia, Africa, the Middle East? The word varies considerably.”

A shark swims past, close to the glass. Jim flinches marginally.

Sebastian presses close. “That shark smiles just like you.” 

Jim snorts softly.

“Have you ever eaten shark?” Sebastian asks.

Jim gives him a derisive look, as if it's not obvious that the ferry from Ireland to England is the most travelled he's been. “No.” 

Sebastian points at some tiny spotted sharks. “See those little ones? The Dogfish? They're easy enough to come by. I'll get you some.” 

Jim is interested, but glances at a sign. “It says over there that they're endangered.” 

Sebastian purrs in his ear. “So?” 

Jim smiles. Sharklike.

They gaze into the glass for a while then move on. Jim snorts and looks at Sebastian teasingly. “They have nurse sharks.” 

Sebastian walks over and peers at them. “Dean,” Sebastian says, pointing at the smallest, “Belle,” he points at the largest, “and unless they've added any more, that one's Ashley.” 

Jim purses his lips, looking amused. “You gave them names?” 

Sebastian gives Jim a look that may or may not be honest. “No, that's what the aquarium calls them.” 

Jim gives Sebastian an appraising look. The man is clearly the biggest human in the place. “Nurse Belle,” he smirks. 

“You're the one with dark hair, Princess,” Sebastian replies easily. He strokes Jim's scalp. “Come on, I'll show you Bungle and Zippy.” 

Jim follows, sounding curious. “What are they?” 

“Sand Tiger Sharks,” Sebastian answers. “They're interesting.” 

Jim gazes at Sebastian's face, then at the silent creatures swimming behind the glass. “Why?” he asks. 

Sebastian leans on Jim again. “Well a shark normally gravitates to the sea bottom. That's where they belong. But Sand Tigers will take a deep breath, and then they can go anywhere.” 

Jim gazes at the sharks quietly. He softly comments, “Some have freckles and some don't.” 

“Makes it interesting to treat the leather,” Sebastian teases. He grins at Jim's unimpressed look.

They watch the sharks swimming for a bit longer before Sebastian asks, “Would you like to meet them?” 

Jim turns around fully. “What?” 

Sebastian's blue eyes sparkle in the gloom. “They won't eat you.” 

“But look at their _teeth_ ,” Jim protests. 

Sebastian simply smiles. “You trust me, don't you?” 

Jim considers. Sebastian smiles winningly. “Come on, take a deep breath.”

Jim follows and watches Sebastian hand notes to the staff. His heart starts to hammer as they change into ridiculous gear that doesn't have enough armour for his liking.

It's strange in the tank. Sebastian breezes over and pulls Jim closer. The teen is even lighter with the buoyancy of the water. 

Jim stares at the sharks around them through the murkiness of his goggles and the water. The water's not cold like he expected.

Sebastian tugs Jim confidently over to a shark and puts his hand out. Instead of disappearing between a snap of jaws filled with multiple rows of teeth, Sebastian's hand survives, and strokes the creature easily.

Sebastian tilts his head at Jim, indicating that the brunet mimic the action. Jim hesitates, but Sebastian makes him feel safe, and he reaches out bravely.

The shark leans into the contact like a pet, pushing comfortably against their legs.

Jim quickly looks up and gives Sebastian an expression that is unmistakable even under all the breathing apparatus. Jim's eyes can be incredibly expressive when he is relaxed.

The experience seems to do as it is intended, which is to say it seems to clear the demons from Jim's mind for the present. They later stroll around the other tanks with interest, but Jim returns to the sharks before they leave.

“Good?” Sebastian asks softly.

“Good,” Jim agrees. 

He seems in ease in himself and their proximity when they return to Conduit Street, and Sebastian is glad of it.

That falls apart in an instant.

“Hullo, Irish.” 

Jim freezes at the familiar voice, utterly unexpected in the reception area which leads to Sebastian's elevator.

Sebastian notices the immediate effect the greeting has on Jim and looks around at the owner of the voice. His neighbour?

Jim stares at the woman. He is very uncomfortable to discover the 'place' Mrs H has in Mayfair is _here_.

He's terrified this will turn into a very telling imbroglio, and tries to think up some copacetic explanation, but she is careful with her words, not exposing what either of them are. She is used to lording over arrivistes but the boy is not like most of her girls. He's deadly.

“Seems like you've gone up in the world,” Mrs Halifax comments, trailing her sharp gaze pointedly over Jim's tailored suit.

“Something like that,” Jim responds, licking his dry lips nervously. He wants to go upstairs. Now.

Sebastian puts his hand heavily, protectively, possessively, on Jim's shoulder. “I'm afraid we're in a rush,” he tells the woman coolly. He guides Jim towards the elevators swiftly.

“Should I ask?” Sebastian questions once inside.

“Rather you didn't,” Jim mutters.

Sebastian worries a little over the ephemeral nature of Jim's good moods, because this one has certainly dwindled. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Jim states, which is a rather miserable ersatz for what he perhaps ought say. It's ridiculous, being scared Mrs H will reveal his ignominious origins when Sebastian already knew he was (is?) a whore, but Jim is frazzled by the reminder.

The stress makes Jim irascible and his language invective. He has a habit of trying to obfuscate his inner workings with scowls and sharp comments, but Sebastian knows him by now. 

He puts both hands on the cranky brunet's shoulders and states, “Stop being such a brat.” 

Jim gives him a defiant look but his challenging voice is lubricious as he sharply responds, “Make me.” 

Sebastian's eyes glitter and he purrs, “I'm open to suggestions.” 

Jim swallows, then takes Sebastian's hand, pulling it to Jim's own throat, pushing down pointedly.

Sebastian stares, his mouth suddenly dry and his prick definitely hard. “Are you sure?” 

Jim needs the distraction and nods with certainty. “Choke me.”


	17. The Kiss

Jim wears significant bruising around his throat the next day. He doesn't seem embarrassed or annoyed by it at all: his fingers rise up to the tender skin all morning as though the discomfort grounds him.

“So much for no marks,” Sebastian comments lightly.

Jim looks at him quickly, his gaze flickering. He swallows and steels himself as he responds, “Not on the market currently, so it hardly matters.”

Sebastian smiles, and it twists Jim's stomach. “I think it looks good on you,” Sebastian smiles.

Jim does blush then, and Sebastian gives him one of those electric grins.

“Come here,” Sebastian purrs.

Jim strokes his throat with his fingertips but gives Sebastian a dubious look. “What for?”

“Because I said so, brat.”

Jim tilts his chin sulkily but obeys without further argument. Sebastian pulls him close with one arm and playfully presses kisses over Jim's skin.

“What are you doing?” Jim protests, making zero effort to pull away. “Get off.”

“Nope; you're too cute,” Sebastian drawls contentedly. He presses a kiss into Jim's ear.

Jim squirms away and spins around, fixing Sebastian with a glare although there is no real fire behind his eyes. “I am _not_ fucking cute.”

Sebastian grins widely, eyes dancing, and hums in a way that suggests disagreement.

Jim slaps the blonde's broad shoulder. 

Sebastian merely smirks and wraps his arms around Jim's waist. “Now don't be bratty,” he intones.

Jim huffs and drops his head head to Sebastian's shoulder. “You're such a prick.”

Sebastian chuckles and lightly smacks Jim, making the brunet jump. “You've got such a mouth on you, Jim Moriarty,” Sebastian chides warmly.

Jim runs his hand up Sebastian's thigh. “Want me to put it on you?” he asks huskily.

Sebastian swallows. “Yes, but that's not what you're here for.”

Jim sighs, not very surprised, but frustrated all the same. The sexual tension between them is rarely far from the surface, and they often do things that feel a lot like foreplay (hello asphyxiation, hello gun play) but Sebastian is hesitant about them following through. Even if he did let Jim cum between them when he took matters in hand.

“You said you'd fuck me when I was better,” Jim reminds Sebastian.

Sebastian swallows, his eyes suddenly rather dilated. “I don't remember specifying what constituted 'better'.”

“Oh come _on_ Sebastian, play fair,” Jim yowls, stepping back with evident frustration. What is he for, if not that? 

“Jim,” Sebastian says softly, “has it not occurred to you that I might not want to _just_ play?”

Jim stills, very aware of his pulse and Sebastian's everything. Jim licks his dry lips and whispers, “What do you mean?”

“Never mind what I mean,” Sebastian grumbles, stepping away to fiddle with his phone.

Jim crosses his arms, looking down, away, and presses in his fingers, focusing on the way his broken skin burns.

Sebastian chews his lip for a moment, distracting himself with whatever is on the screen. He nods to himself.

“I'm going out,” Sebastian declares, brushing his gaze over Jim quickly before swiping up his keys.

He pauses at the door. “Want me to pick you up anything?” he asks mildly.

“You can't just buy me off,” Jim responds in a low voice.

“I equally meant food,” Sebastian replies slowly. He opens the door. “Don't forget your meds at four.”

Jim turns his back and steps towards the couch. “Whatever,” he mutters, sitting down and leaning on his knees.

The door clicks behind Sebastian.

Jim presses his palms into his eyeballs and grits his teeth to hold back an agitated scream.

*

“Honey, I'm home!”

Jim freezes for a moment and slowly looks across the room to the lift doors. He's so glad Sebastian is back.

Jim gives Sebastian a look that denigrates the ridiculous comment, but Jim's eyes betray his true amusement. He is glad Sebastian is back. Glad, glad, glad.

“Did you take your medicine?” Sebastian asks, washing his gaze over Jim with an expression the brunet cannot decipher.

Jim nods slowly.

Sebastian gives him a small smile; a quick twitch of his lips. His eyes are wary. “Good boy,” he responds.

Jim isn't sure how to feel about that comment. He fixes his gaze on the bag of take-away cartons swinging from Sebastian's large hand. The markings are ambiguous but it smells like Chinese food.

Jim's voice does not come out as loose and nonchalant as he had hoped for as he rasps, “You want me to get out plates?”

Sebastian looks at him again, actually meeting Jim's dark eyes for a moment. “Stay comfortable; I'll get it...” The blonde places the cartons on the work surface and clatters in the cutlery drawer for forks, his back to Jim.

“I… owe you an apology,” Sebastian states, twisting his head around quickly to gaze at Jim.

Jim blinks. He didn't expect…

“I shouldn't have snapped at you, and I shouldn't have left like that,” Sebastian declares, pulling out plates and dishing out a large amount of temptingly aromatic food.

“You didn't snap,” Jim says, not quite looking at Sebastian.

“Well, I'm sorry anyway,” Sebastian sighs, carrying over the laden plates.

Jim accepts his food, uncertain how to respond.

Jim stares at Sebastian as the blonde eats. “...What?” the ex soldier questions.

Jim astonishes himself by blurting, “Where were you?”

“Oh,” Sebastian says slowly. “I went to work early.”

Jim still doesn't lift his fork. “Are you cross with me?”

Sebastian looks up quickly. “No,” he says swiftly.

“Were you?” Jim continues, swallowing awkwardly.

Sebastian pushes his warm plate onto the coffee table before them and turns around to face Jim. “No, Jim; not at all.”

Jim frowns into his meal. He tilts his head at an angle and asks, “Then what..?”

Sebastian sighs and takes Jim's plate from the unresisting teen's hands. It is placed on the table beside Sebastian's own, then Sebastian pulls a stiff-limbed Jim into an embrace.

Jim melts into it painfully slowly, resting his broad forehead on Sebastian's shoulder.

“I was pissed at me; not you,” Sebastian states. He holds Jim close. 

Jim does not let go. His breath is warm against Sebastian's skin as he asks him, “Why?”

Sebastian straightens a little, making an uncomfortable noise.

“Sebastian,” Jim says softly.

That twists the blond's heart a bit. Jim tends to use 'Basher' more often. 'Sebastian' is Jim's attempt to be intimate.

Sebastian groans and tilts his face to the ceiling. Then he laughs softly at himself. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Jim repeats with a guarded look.

Sebastian sighs and twists around a little so that Jim can see him better. With a dry mouth Sebastian begrudgingly admits, “Despite your experiences to the contrary, I'm not much in the habit of fucking people I haven't even kissed.”

Jim immediately fidgets. Slowly he responds, “We have kissed; a hundred times.” 

“You know what I mean, Arty,” Sebastian states with a pointed look. 

Jim lets out a huff of air. “Whore, remember? I don't-” 

“Guest, remember?” Sebastian corrects.

Jim is very aware of his mouth. The cut across his lips has healed but the skin seems very, very dry.

Jim is often reticent about his true feelings. It's so much harder to admit he craves affection than to offer his body. “I don't...”

“I'm obviously not going to do anything you don't want me to,” Sebastian reminds him.

“I didn't...” Jim sighs. Clenches his small hands. “I...”

“You don't have to say anything,” Sebastian says gently. “Just because I told you how I feel doen't mean you have to change anything.”

Jim gives him a searching look. “And what if you get bored?”

Sebastian gives him a grin that is both soothing and provoking at once. “Firstly, I could never get bored with such an unpredictable little ball of chaos as you. And secondly, if I'm not treating you right then you have my total permission to call me out on it.”

Jim licks his lips slowly. His heart is hammering. He is about to make a terrible, catastrophic, ruinous decision. “You're not treating me right,” he declares softly.

Sebastian looks horrified. “What-?”

Jim wraps his fingers in Sebastian's lapel. “You've left my lips untouched for far too long.”

Sebastian's eyes widen comically and Jim does his best not to laugh. The corners of his lips twist up tellingly.

“Are you utterly, absolutely sure?” Sebastian asks.

“Obey the boss,” Jim whispers, pulling Sebastian's head towards him.

Sebastian yanks Jim into his lap and responds to the kiss eagerly.

They do not part for a very long time, and when they do, they are unsure what to say. They are breathless and smiling, their lips red and swollen.

“Was that okay?” Sebastian asks eventually, His voice is breathy but not quite devoid of its typical gravelly undertone. 

Jim swallows, lowering his head to run his fingers through his short, sweaty hair. He's reluctant to admit anything, but the response seems to leave his lips of entirely its own volition. “Very.” 

Jim's lips seem to burn. Sebastian kissed him. On the lips. It leaves indelible marks on Jim's psyche.

Their food gets cold.


	18. Trust

The first thing Sebastian hears is a click.

Sebastian has honed his ability to tell which noises he has to wake up for, and which he can sleep through.

The click of the safety being removed from a Glock 17 is the sort of noise that wakes Sebastian up.

He remains still, his breathing even, and listens. Determining whether it's prudent to open his eyes yet.

Breathing. Agitated. Small body.

Usual house and street noises in the background.

No one else in the apartment.

Sebastian opens his eyes and focuses on Jim, who is standing out of reach with one of Sebastian's own handguns.

Jim shifts his weight tensely upon becoming the focus of Sebastian's attention.

“Should I surmise that you're cross about something?” Sebastian asks, his voice still soft from sleep but his gaze alert and intelligent.

Jim's grip tightens on the gun. “You think this is the time to be flippant?”

Sebastian sits up slowly, responding, “Well, I get the feeling this isn't a game, but that doesn't mean I'm going to cry about it.”

Jim's dark eyes narrow. “You're awfully calm for someone who's about to get shot.”

“You've been holding that thing for a long time without pulling the trigger,” Sebastian comments. “Maybe I'm not too worried.”

Jim scowls, taking half a step forwards, focusing his aim better and shifting the pressure of his fingers.

Sebastian leans back against the headboard. “Are you at least going to tell me what you intend to shoot me for?”

Jim gives him a skeptical look. “I'm not going to let you keep me talking until you figure out a way to disable me.”

Sebastian sighs and surveys Jim thoughtfully. The Glock might be lighter than the old thirteen round Brownings, but it still looks heavy in Jim's small hands. Jim's grip is also unpractised, and the pale teen looks a bit afraid that the gun will bite his fingers off.

It's still entirely possible that Jim could shoot Sebastian in the head, but the blond gets the feeling he might be able to utilise Jim's reluctance.

Although it's not exactly comforting that Jim's hands aren't shaking.

“You know, this might be an overreaction to me leaving the toilet seat up,” Sebastian deadpans.

Jim frowns, his fingers tightening again on the trigger, but still not putting pressure enough to actually shoot. “You don't seem to be taking this seriously.”

Sebastian leans his elbows on his knees. “In the movies, that's when the guy with the gun fires a warning shot. We're on the top floor so that probably wouldn't do too much damage. Might make it a bit difficult for you to get downstairs though.”

“Oh, shut up, Sebastian,” Jim complains.

Sebastian swallows. Sebastian. Not Basher. “Well what do you want me to do? Pointing a gun at someone's face can make them quite talkative. It's the adrenaline, you know?”

“I'd like to think that as I've got the gun, I should make the rules, and I did just tell you to shut up.”

Sebastian shrugs. “If you're going to shoot me anyway what should I do as I'm told for? It's a bit late for me to be racking up points for heaven.”

“I thought most people wanted to drag out their last few moments,” Jim mutters.

“I'm more interested in knowing what I've done to upset you, personally,” Sebastian responds.

Jim scowls. “What do you think?”

Sebastian shrugs. “Depends how long you've been planning this. If it's a spur of the moment thing I'd hazard a guess towards the kissing?”

Jim looks deeply uncomfortable, and then his expression slowly steels. He focuses his aim again. “Yeah, I'm not too cool with that.”

“You could have said no,” Sebastian replies flippantly. “Seems a bit of an overreaction to kill me in my bed.”

“You can kneel on the floor with your hands over your head if you find it a more dignified execution,” Jim retorts.

“Was it that bad a kiss?” Sebastian jokes.

Jim glares at him. “You don't get it at all.”

“Nope,” Sebastian agrees lightly.

Jim's palms feel sweaty around the oiled gun. His internal rage is mounting at his apparent inability to just tighten his two fingers and pull. What is he waiting for?

“Was it the kiss?” Sebastian asks softly.

Jim's gaze flickers. “I don't-”

“Did you feel obligated? Coerced?” Sebastian asks.

“No. Yes. I don't- Shut up.”

“I can't fix it if I don't know what's wrong,” Sebastian points out. He muses aloud, “So you don't know if you felt coerced into initiating. So maybe you felt scared. But I've been very careful not to fuck you, and that seems to get you agitated, so… Is that something to do with it? You're scared of getting _close_?”

Jim's eyes flash and he strides towards the bed, pushing the hard metal of the gun's barrel against Sebastian's forehead, grazing the skin, not that that will matter in a moment when he blows a hole through it. “This close enough for you?” he snarls.

Sebastian snatches Jim's wrist before the young man can do anything and flips him onto the bed, pinning him down. “Silly boy,” Sebastian chides mildly, wresting the gun from Jim's grip.

Pressing a knee down on Jim's struggling chest, Sebastian regains use of both of his hands and removes the rounds, tossing them in the bedside drawer.

Jim is silent, tense.

Sebastian lobs the empty gun across the room. It lands with a thump.

“Well,” Sebastian says softly, a sharp edge underlying his words, “you _did_ wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, didn't you?”

Jim swallows, his stomach making itself smaller reactively to protect his insides, but his slim shoulders squaring defensively.

Sebastian stares down at Jim, who is glaring a hole through Sebastian's skull with scared eyes. Pinned, but willing to lash out at the first opportunity.

Sebastian feels a heat, but maybe that's just the after effects of waking with his own gun pointed at his face.

“You crazy little fuck,” Sebastian whispers, then swallows.

Jim doesn't say a word, his snarling lips bared like a frightened wild animal.

Sebastian watches the dark eyes widen in wary surprise as Sebastian pulls back a bit, still keeping Jim immobile but allowing the brat to take less shallow breaths.

Jim's chest swells. Sebastian straddles the narrow hips comfortably and takes grip of Jim's wrists again.

“Well?” Sebastian prompts.

“'Well' what?” Jim spits. He doesn't want to look at Sebastian anymore, but when Jim looks down his vision is filled with orange and black, and that seems even more 'Sebastian' than the blond's face. Jim doesn't want either to be the last thing he sees before he dies.

“ _Well_ what am I going to do with you?” Sebastian asks sternly.

Jim blinks. Sebastian seems displeased, but not deadly. “What?” Jim blurts.

Sebastian eyes him steadily. “Silly little boys shouldn't play with guns,” he growls, then releases one of Jim's wrists to firmly backhand Jim's cheek. Jim cries out, the blow mild enough not to crack the bone but certainly enough to make the teen's eyes water.

Jim is tempted to claw at the larger man's eyes, but his own are blurred with hot tears. He brushes his fingers against his burning cheekbone, feeling for a break.

“Stings, does it?” Sebastian drawls. “Imagine how a bullet would feel.”

Jim hold Sebastian's gaze challengingly, squirming as Sebastian reaches down again not to strike but to rub the sore flesh with his thumb, batting Jim's own hand away.

“Are you going to tell me what this is about so that we can ensure it never happens again, or am I going to have to guess?” Sebastian asks.

Jim twists his head away, pressing his lips closed. But not his teeth, in case of another hard slap.

“Fine,” Sebastian responds, lowering himself closer to the brunet. “I'll have to guess.”

Jim tenses, drawing up his shoulders defensively.

Sebastian tilts his head, his lips twisting a little mockingly. “You blew up over getting something _you_ begged for, so I think I would be right to think it's yourself you're upset with. How I make you feel.”

Jim greys and looks at Sebastian quickly. The teen swallows, then scowls and spits.

Sebastian merely wipes his cheek then calmly delivers a slap that makes Jim's teeth rattle. “That'll be a yes, then?” Sebastian comments archly.

Jim closes his eyes, definitely not about to cry, as his face explodes in pain. “Fuck you,” he replies in a small voice, once he thinks he can keep the tremor from his words.

Sebastian snorts derisively. “I'm not in much of a rush to let you into my pants, surprisingly enough, after you put a gun to my head over a kiss.”

Jim's face is already blooming a vivid red, one side swelling out. He looks away, rubbing crossly at his wet lashes with his free hand.

Sebastian smirks grimly. “That hurt, baby?” he asks teasingly.

“Shut up!” Jim exclaims, frowning from behind his hand.

“I'd say 'make me' but you already tried that this morning,” Sebastian says dryly.

“You're a jerk,” Jim mutters, sounding frustrated but subdued.

“ _I'm_ the jerk?” Sebastian repeats incredulously. He pulls Jim's hand aside and gives the brunet a hard look.

Jim tries to glare back, but can't quite meet Sebastian's eyes and looks away quickly.

“Oh, are we feeling _guilty_?” Sebastian mocks, his voice a little cold.

“Shut up,” Jim mutters.

“No,” Sebastian retorts with a stern lowering of his brows, “there will be no 'shutting up' because you not telling me your concerns is what got us in this mess.”

Jim bites his lip, looking lost and contrite. Sebastian feels blood flooding southwards and with its diversion struggles to find words with which to continue.

“Brat,” Sebastian blurts.

Jim heaves a sigh, not fond of apologising, but feeling embarrassed and frustrated by his own desire to make amends. “Do you want to hurt me?” he offers quietly.

Sebastian fixes him with a stare, recognising the not-apology for what it is, but not so easily swayed. “Absolutely,” the blond answers, “but not if it's just going to let you think that you can do whatever you like then just pay for it with a bit of pain.”

Jim squirms, resenting feeling guilty, but feeling it all the same.

“You could have killed me, you idiot,” Sebastian scolds sharply. “And then what would happen to you?”

Jim blinks, his eyes widening at the unexpected second statement.

Sebastian narrows his cool blue eyes. “Those big eyes won't work on me right now, you _fuck_.”

“I'm sorry,” Jim states, quite astonishing himself with the words.

Sebastian also blinks in surprise. “As you should be,” he growls in response.

Jim wriggles weakly underneath him, and in any other circumstances Sebastian would be driven to carnal urges by it. Even in the current situation Sebastian's quite aroused.

But that's irrelevant.

“So what are you going to do about it?” Sebastian demands.

Jim gives him a confused look.

Sebastian raises his brows intimidatingly. “If you're truly sorry you'll make efforts to make amends and correct your actions. So what are you going to do?”

Jim feels heat rising up his sore face, feeling humiliated by the scolding. “I'll… let you do whatever you want to me?” he suggests meekly.

Sebastian gives him an unimpressed look. “I could do whatever I chose with your scrawny self since the night I laid eyes on you, but I chose to give you free reign and look where that's gotten me. Try harder, brat.”

Jim blinks. “What else is there?”

Sebastian is tempted to slap the young man again but refrains. “From now on if you have a problem you come tell me, immediately, whether you want to or not. Whether it's what I want to hear or not. Is that absolutely understood?”

That both astonishes and intimidates Jim, but the brunet finds himself croaking out an agreement.

“Good,” Sebastian snarls. He sits up quickly, freeing Jim.

The younger man stares at him in surprise. “Can- can I move?” he asks softly.

“If you like,” Sebastian states coolly.

Jim sits up warily, rubbing at his aching face and uncomfortable wrists.

“Go get the gun,” Sebastian orders.

Jim freezes, his breath catching and his heartbeat loud in his ears. “What?”

“You heard me,” Sebastian growls. “Fetch it _now_."

Jim cannot think of anything he would like less, but eases off of the bed on wobbling legs. He considers making a run for the door, but he doesn't believe he can escape Sebastian's longer legs in a confined space.

He picks up the gun slowly, not even hiding how his hands tremble. 

“Over here,” Sebastian orders. 

Jim strongly considers bolting, but he wades back towards the bed, feeling like he's drowning. 

Sebastian snaps the pieces back together nonchalantly and snatches Jim's upper arm, pulling the young man back onto the bed. 

Sebastian pushes back up against the headboard and pulls Jim between his thighs, the brunet's back against Sebastian's naked chest. 

“Relax, I can feel your heart hammering from here,” Sebastian comments wryly. 

Jim glances around, confused and nervous. 

Sebastian puts the gun back in Jim's surprised, sweating hands, then adjusts Jim's fingers. “This is how you hold a gun like this,” Sebastian explains softly. 

“I've held a gun before,” Jim says. 

Sebastian's lips are freshly healed from the night of 'gun play' and they curl into a dry smile. “That was playing. I'm showing you what to do if you ever need to do it properly.” 

“I've shot a loaded gun before,” Jim responds quietly. 

“What were you aiming at, a wall? Because you weren't likely to hit much with the aim you had earlier,” Sebastian responds calmly. 

Jim turns around to face Sebastian with a perplexed expression. “Why are you doing this?” 

“In case I'm not here to protect you,” Sebastian responds tightly, squeezing Jim's two fingers against the trigger. 

Jim shifts in Sebastian's arms, gazing down at the healing scars along his white belly. “I tried to shoot you.” 

“Yes, you did,” Sebastian agrees, a chiding tone to his voice, “and you sure as hell had better not try that again. But I've still got your back Arty.” 

Jim stares at their hands wrapped around the same gun. “Why?” he asks. 

“Because you can trust me,” Sebastian states. He presses a kiss into one of the bigger scars on Jim's fragile skull. 

Jim lets go of the gun and twists around to press his side against Sebastian's firm chest. The brunet reaches up and touches the white piece of his own skin. 

“Table corner,” he offers into the quiet. “When I was younger.” 

“Looks sore,” Sebastian comments mildly, rubbing his thumb over it gently. 

Jim leans in to the unfamiliar touch. “It was,” he agrees. 

Sebastian tosses the Glock further down the bed. He squeezes his strong arms around Jim, conscious of the way Jim clings back. 

“M'sorry,” Jim mutters into Sebastian's muscular forearm. 

“Maybe I should try hailing a taxi to see if I can borrow a hairbrush,” Sebastian teases, his lips brushing against the brunet's ear. 

Jim chuffs in quiet laughter. “I'd deserve it,” he says wryly. 

“Certainly would,” Sebastian grumbles, kissing the side of Jim's jaw that isn't crimson. 

Jim brushes carefully against the larger man, aware that some interest remains. “Do… you _want_ to punish me? A bit?” 

Sebastian is still. “Would you still feel safe if I did?” 

Jim considers. “As long as you stop if I ask you to.” 

“Of course,” Sebastian responds, dipping his head to kiss Jim's stubble again. The brunet twists his head, his lips making brief contact with Sebastian's own. 

Sebastian brushes some of Jim's unruly tufts of hair lightly underneath his fingers then pulls away. “Before we get distracted by all that,” Sebastian begins, licking his lips, “you're going to need your medicine. I've faced a cranky enough little Sasslips this morning.” 

Jim chuckles and agrees, yelping in surprise as Sebastian pulls his small frame into those huge arms and carries Jim downstairs. 

Jim feels a little ridiculous as Sebastian shifts Jim to his hip in the kitchen, Jim's legs crossing tightly around Sebastian's waist for purchase. 

Sebastian gives him another kiss then it doesn't seem so bad. The blond steps around the kitchen easily, gathering and preparing breakfast with one arm. 

“How are you feeling?” Sebastian asks, keeping his gaze on the kitchen things to avoid intimidating the younger man. 

Jim presses his chin on Sebastian's shoulder. “Safe? Excited. Nervous.” 

Sebastian places Jim down on the counter and pulls him in for a kiss. Jim wraps his arms around the blond eagerly. 


	19. Stripes

“Okay, okay, that's _enough_ for now, little boy,” Sebastian sighs, pulling away from Jim's insistent mouth reluctantly.

Jim makes a disgruntled noise, trying to follow Sebastian and leaping down from the counter when the blond walks away.

“Sit down,” Sebastian scolds. “You're going to eat.”

Jim ducks down onto his elbows and rolls his hips. “Breakfast could wait.”

Sebastian slaps each cheek gently, Jim pushing into the contact with a soft smile, then the brat is swatted firmly, forcing a gasp from between Jim's kiss-swollen lips.

“Do as you're told,” Sebastian rebukes playfully.

Jim rubs himself, wryly muttering, “Ow.”

Sebastian grins at him whilst gathering breakfast items. “That your threshold, is it?” he teases.

Jim laughs. “I thought you liked the sight of me with tears in my eyes?”

Sebastian puts eggs aside for a moment to grope Jim comfortably. “I do, but I want you to be able to sit down to eat.”

Jim joins Sebastian's side and watches as the eggs are skillfully broken and scrambled. “I could eat standing,” the brunet mentions.

Sebastian leans around and bites the tip of Jim's nose very gently. “That's bad for your digestion.”

Jim pouts playfully but turns and fetches his medication and some plates.

Sebastian tosses the jug of yellow gloop in the microwave and butters some rolls.

Jim watches him thoughtfully. “Hey Basher? What are you going to do? To punish me.”

Sebastian licks white butter from his fingers and turns around to face Jim's slightly nervous face. “Don't think about it until you've eaten or you'll feel sick. I won't do anything that you can't take.”

“But… I am in big trouble, right?” Jim mutters, the situation not seeming so amusing anymore.

Sebastian sighs, ignoring the beep of the microwave, and pulling Jim flush against his chest. “You've been a bad little brat this morning but I'm hardly going to waterboard you. Don't look so worried.”

Jim chews his lip worriedly.

Sebastian fetches the eggs, blown up like a tiny soufflé, and stirs them quickly for a few moments before dishing them onto the open rolls.

“Stop overthinking and eat,” Sebastian orders mildly.

Jim gives a small nod and obeys, eating slowly.

Sebastian rubs the younger man's back soothingly and straddles the stool beside Jim, wolfing his breakfast enthusiastically. Being held at gunpoint seems to give _him_ an appetite.

Jim leans into the contact and reaches for his medication, pushing the tablets through the foil.

“Finish that first,” Sebastian chides softly. “You're going to need your energy.”

Jim swings his legs, conscious of how unsettlingly _different_ Sebastian's manner is from anyone else Jim has ever met. 

Jim finishes his breakfast, and cannot help but slowly smile when Sebastian's lips peck his cheek. The one that isn't slowly starting to bruise. “That's better; good boy,” the blond says without irony.

Jim takes his pills then holds out his cheek for another kiss. Sebastian laughs fondly and obliges.

Sebastian's plate is empty too, so Jim stands and tilts his head questioningly towards the stairs.

Sebastian shakes his head. “Let your food settle or you'll be sick, and that's not the sort of punishment I have in mind for you.”

Jim gives him an alert look. “You've decided?”

“I'll run it by you first, but for the meantime do as you're told,” Sebastian responds. He nudges Jim towards the metallic couch and pulls the brat in for a snuggle. Jim leans into the contact with a dubious expression.

Sebastian has to bite down on a laugh when the little troublemaker falls asleep. The blond lets Jim rest.

Jim is bemused to wake on the couch, curled atop Sebastian's soothing body heat. “What..?”

“Seemed like you needed a nap,” Sebastian explains with amusement in his voice.

Jim pulls himself up looking embarrassed. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“Don't worry about it,” Sebastian replies, leaning over to kiss the brunet's ear. “Go get washed then I'll talk to you about what I'm going to do to you.”

Jim feels ice in his stomach even as burning blood rushes lower. It's an odd but not entirely unwelcome feeling.

“Okay,” he squeaks, disappearing upstairs.

Sebastian stretches out, glad to be able to move again, and follows the young man upstairs.

Jim's nerves seem to bubble and scream under his skin as he performs his ablutions. He is thrilled; excited; terrified. What has he done?

Nonetheless, his prick seems pretty interested. Jim's fingers glide down, but he jumps and almost slips as Sebastian's amused, stern voice booms, “You can leave that alone for now: you've been naughty, remember?”

Jim's face turns scarlet and he quickly reaches up to switch off the spray of water. “Yes, sir,” he gasps.

Sebastian blinks but nods approvingly, pulling a heated towel from the rail and holding it out.

Jim accepts it and dries quickly.

Sebastian leads through to the bedroom and sits down, giving Jim the space to join him when he feels ready.

Jim pads over to where he abandoned his tracksuit last time and crouches to retrieve his bottoms.

“No-ope,” Sebastian says in a sing-song voice.

Jim looks up at him. The position only emphasises the height difference and the allure of his wide, dark eyes.

“You're not going to need clothes just yet,” Sebastian explains.

Jim swallows. The blood swirling to his groin almost tickles.

“Okay,” Sebastian states, “so I've been thinking about this.”

Jim sits on the carpet, wriggling his fingers nervously. “Uh huh?”

“Obviously, you've been an exceptionally bad little brat, so your punishment should be unpleasant enough for you that it acts as a deterrent in future.”

Jim draws in on himself a little bit.

“But on the other hand, I don't want to punish you severely enough that you don't feel safe or cared for,” Sebastian continues.

Jim's stomach wobbles. He's not sure if that actually makes him feel more nervous: who's even cared about protecting Jim's feelings before?

Sebastian softens his voice. “I thought a few hard belt licks might fit the bill. What do you think?”

Jim chews his lip, fear starting to win the battle with his arousal. Still, that's nothing considering what he almost did this morning. “Is… is that all?” Jim asks.

Sebastian draws his gaze over the brunet consideringly. “Do you think it should be more?”

Jim has no idea what makes him speak. “Well… yeah,” he says very quietly.

“Well, it's going to hurt, and your face is pretty white, so… I think anything more would just be overkill,” Sebastian responds.

Jim nods, chewing through the skin of his lip without notice until his mouth fills with the tang of blood.

Sebastian gets up and crouches down beside Jim, tilting the young man's chin to inspect the damage. “No more of that, eh? You've got enough pain coming, I promise you.”

Jim swallows, feeling cold and desperately wanting to pull Sebastian closer.

Sebastian kisses the sore lip before pulling back, blood transferring to his own face. “Do you want to use a safe word?” the blond asks, “or will I just listen out for you saying 'wait' or 'stop'?”

Jim squirms, not entirely sure how how he feels about safe words. He knows what they are, but he's never used them. “No safe words,” he mutters.

Sebastian gives the brunet a thoughtful look, curious as to why Jim suddenly looks much more embarrassed.

“Alright,” the muscular blonde announces softly, “I want you to get up, go over to the wardrobe, and pick a belt to bring me.”

Jim's stomach flips, and he's a little surprised to feel himself twitch despite the ice in his stomach. “Yes sir,” he responds carefully, and pulls himself to his cold feet. 

He crosses the room and examines the few belts in the closet. All are black or brown leather, with little difference in width. But a few have metal tips on the non-buckle end.

Presumably that's why Sebastian was making such a lenient offer. Feeling sick, Jim buries his icy toes into the carpet and lifts one of the tipped belts as though it's a snake.

He carries it over and can't look the blond in the face as he hands it to Sebastian.

Sebastian almost drops it. “Fuck, Arty, I'm not trying to break you!”

Jim lifts his gaze, confused. “What?”

Sebastian makes a face. “I'm going to _spank_ you, Sasslips. Hard, yeah, but I'm not going to fucking thrash hell out of you. That's not going to make you feel _safe_. Christ.”

Jim feels kind of belittled but mostly relieved as Sebastian carries the harsh belt away. Sebastian holds up two ordinary belts. “Which?” he asks, trying to ensure Jim feels somewhat in control of the situation.

Jim points at one, recognising there is little difference in the two.

Sebastian folds it over and throws it to Jim before putting the other away. Jim catches the leather in his fingers and surveys it nervously. His heart is racing.

“Do you want to take your licks over my knees, or bent over the bed?” Sebastian asks evenly.

Jim blinks. Sebastian's lap seems too intimate; embarrassing. It would be much easier to appear stoic when he can dig his fingers into the duvet and have the fabric soak up his tears.

“The bed. Sir,” Jim answers.

Sebastian seems a little surprised, but nods. “Are you ready?” he asks gently.

Jim shakes his head a little but walks towards the bed. 

Sebastian puts his hand on Jim's shoulder. “If you're not ready...”

“No, I… Let's just get started. Please,” Jim mumbles.

Sebastian nods, and moves his hand to between Jim's pale shoulders, pushing down a little. As Jim lies flat Sebastian reminds the brunet, “If you want to stop at any point, you just say.”

“Uh huh,” Jim mutters, telling himself that there is no way he would do something so weak.

Sebastian surprises the young man by taking both his hands and twisting them into the small of Jim's narrow back, holding them still. Sebastian does not want Jim to reach back during the punishment and get his fingers harmed.

Jim swallows. So much for gripping the duvet when the belting burns.

“Tell me when,” Sebastian says.

Jim squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn't want to, but there's no point dragging this out. “Ready,” he grits out.

“You're sure?” Sebastian checks.

“Yes!” Jim retorts, feeling more anxious at the wait.

Sebastian whips the folded belt past his strong shoulder and cracks it down hard across Jim's skin.

Jim recoils into the mattress, not quite holding back a yell as a stripe of red hot pain paints his skin.

“Ready for the next one?” Sebastian asks.

No. “Yes sir,” Jim responds weakly.

Sebastian rips another hard stripe into Jim's bare skin, steadily ignoring the arousal he feels at Jim's wincing and instead focusing on any signs that Jim needs reassurance or a break.

“You're doing well, Jim. Ready for one more?” Sebastian asks gently.

Jim squeezes his eyes shut again, the start of tears absorbed by the fabric beneath him. “Yes.”

Sebastian throws his weight behind the next blow, forcing a small scream from Jim's lips at the white hot ache.

He doesn't ask for a break, despite his weak legs.

Sebastian tosses the belt to the floor and lets go of Jim's wrists, rubbing the younger man's back soothingly.

Jim turns his face slowly. “I… I didn't ask you to stop,” he says meekly.

Sebastian very lightly runs his fingertips over the welts on Jim's previously pale bottom. Jim flinches, embarrassing himself at the lack of control.

“You don't think you've had enough?” Sebastian asks, not removing his hand.

“I can take a lot more than that,” Jim admits reluctantly.

“I didn't ask what you could _take_ I asked what you deserved,” Sebastian responds.

Jim hates the words that come out of his mouth as he admits, “I… deserve more.”

Sebastian sighs, and kneels down to lick a broad stripe over the burning skin. Jim almost jumps out of his body.

“And what about feeling safe?” Sebastian asks, a hint of playful smugness in his voice.

“What… are you doing?” Jim asks breathlessly.

“I'm going to remind you that I look after you,” Sebastian announces, giving the sore skin another lick, “and then I'm going to take care of your _needs_ and then we're going to cuddle. Understood?”

Jim writhes a little under Sebastian's tongue, arousal definitely beating pain now. “Yes… sir.”

“New house rule,” Sebastian states, his breath cool against Jim's burning rear. “Anytime I have to use hard physical correction, I have to kiss you better afterwards.”

Jim twists around and pulls Sebastian up to his face. Sebastian who didn't even use the buckle end of the belt. Jim kisses him with feeling.


	20. Fair Play Overdue

Jim feels remarkably content the next day, despite (or perhaps partly because of) the discolouration upon three of his cheeks. He stretches out on the bed, then leans up to place a kiss amongst Sebastian's blonde stubble.

Sebastian rolls over to face Jim, smiling sleepily. “You're in a good mood,” Sebastian comments. His gaze flickers over Jim's bruised face, unsure how to feel about it.

“I am,” Jim purrs.

Sebastian regards his companion with a slow smirk. “I'll bear in mind that if I want to improve your temper, I only need to stick my tongue in your ass for most of the day.”

Jim sits closer, dark eyes glittering temptingly. “That's only going to last for so long.”

Sebastian tilts his head, expression even. “Oh?”

“Your _tongue_ isn't the only thing I want there,” Jim explains. He swings a leg over Sebastian's hips pointedly.

Sebastian groans, too recently wakened for this game.

Jim's hand goes to the blond's crotch, and Sebastian jumps, not expecting Jim to be serious. “What?” he protests, pulling himself closer to the headboard. “No, no, no, no, wait, no.”

Jim sighs patiently, not removing his hand, but not tightening his grip either. “Basher, it's overdue.”

“Aren't you _sore_?” Sebastian objects.

“Yes, but I imagine your fingers gripping my _sore_ arse will be on the right side of pain,” Jim responds with a dark smirk.

Sebastian hisses in air from between his teeth. He can't deny he would love to knead those tender globes to hear Jim mewl.

“Are you sure?” Sebastian asks.

Jim smirks, thinking Sebastian is merely playing. “Don't you want to?” he asks seductively.

Sebastian puts his hand on Jim's arm and fixes his pale eyes on Jim's surprised ones. “Jim,” Sebastian says in a measured voice, “do you want to? Genuinely?”

Jim swallows, not expecting the offer and suddenly unsure of himself. He licks his lips. He does want Sebastian. Physically. But with all this waiting around, is sex between them going to _mean_ something?

Sebastian is an attractive man. He has chiselled cheeks, a strong jaw, and a powerful physique. He is clever, and controlled, with an air of steady confidence.

Jim wants him very much.

He'll deal with problems later, if need be.

“Genuinely,” Jim tells the blond.

Sebastian nods slowly, fixing Jim with another look. “If you want to stop, at any point, you tell me. Yes?”

Jim gives him a pitying look. “I'm not afraid of sex, Basher.”

“I know, but sex in a non-professional capacity is different, isn't it?” Sebastian points out.

Jim's jaw squares a little. “How'd you mean?”

Sebastian leans forwards and places a quick, chaste kiss on Jim's lips. They tingle. “Well I get to do that, for a start.”

Jim's expression flickers before he settles on a mildly impatient look. “You're being ridiculous,” he derides.

“Fine,” Sebastian responds, not without warmth, “but my offer still stands.”

“The only standing part of you I'm interested in right now is your cock,” Jim states drolly.

Sebastian rolls his eyes, which wasn't much of a trait of his before meeting Arty, and directs Jim's gaze to Sebastian's attentive prick. “I'd say you've got that,” the blond states dryly.

“So that's a yes?” Jim questions.

Sebastian nods slowly. “Give me a moment to wake up properly and it might be a yes.”

Jim licks the former soldier's cheek playfully. “Alright. I'm going to go clean up a little first.”

Sebastian tugs Jim back as the young man tries to get off of the bed, and takes a firm kiss. He lets Jim go.

The brunet smiles on his way to the bathroom.

Sebastian sits up and stretches, feeling rather dazed, and considers the propriety of giving in to the very enthusiastic carnal urges within.

Jim returns, licking toothpaste from his upper lip.

Fuck it, of course it's a yes.

“Well?” Jim purrs.

“Get over here,” Sebastian orders.

Jim's grin spreads as he pounces over. The previously flimsy brunet is starting to fill out a little from the regular, nutritious meals provided.

Sebastian regards him with a look of delectation. Jim seems to notice the look, because he returns to Sebastian and gives the blond a significant, peremptory touch.

“Yes,” Sebastian agrees, tugging Jim down for another kiss that leaves their lips swollen. Jim hadn't bothered to dress yesterday, so Sebastian's hands are able to peruse the exposed skin without challenge.

Jim leans into the contact, running his short nails teasingly down Sebastian's chest.

Sebastian kisses under Jim's pale neck, the bruising there faded into almost nothing, and slides his hands down lightly to Jim's vividly bruised (and lightly welted) rear.

Jim shivers at the contact, biting his lip as he pushes into the touch. Sebastian strokes the tender skin gently. “Sore?” he asks.

Jim nods, but wriggles his hips encouragingly.

“Want me to kiss it better some more?” Sebastian asks, kneading the skin a little.

Jim gives him a mildly disparaging look. “I want you to stop dragging things out and get _inside_ of me.”

Sebastian smiles a little crookedly at Jim's order. “Yes, boss.”

Jim gives Sebastian a steady, almost authoritative stare. There's something about the way the blond purrs 'boss' which isn't entirely humorous. It's obedient.

Jim likes it.

“Lube, now,” the brunet orders.

Sebastian leans over and opens a drawer of the bedside furniture. He lifts out what is evidently the same foreign concoction that they used before. The bottle is not quite opaque, so as it catches the light Jim can see how much lube remains in the bottle.

Judging by the generous amount Sebastian used upon Jim in the hotel that weekend, the bottle has not been used since. 

That gives Jim a strange feeling, although he knows that it does not necessarily mean anything.

Sebastian pops the lid of the bottle.

The effluvium of that strange lubricant meets Jim's nose. He's growing fond of the scent. 

Sebastian meets Jim's eyes and spreads the oleaginous gloop on himself, taking his sweet time to prepare Jim thoroughly and enjoyably.

Jim cannot quite bring himself to complain about that. Jim is content, lying on his side, one leg swung casually over Sebastian's shoulder. The brunet sighs, his blood thrumming with excitement. Electricity.

He looks down at Sebastian, who smiles whilst his breath comes in hot little puffs against Jim's thighs and stomach. Kissing, even as his fingers move inside Jim.

The declivity of Jim's deepest scars stretch out to flatness as he squirms happily. Sebastian's gaze is drawn to the movement, pleased to see Jim in such an unrepressed state.

“Now?” Jim pants.

Sebastian licks playfully along the underside of Jim's groin, lubricant smearing onto the bottom of his lightly stubbled chin. “If you like.”

“Now,” Jim orders, leaning back with need.

Sebastian pulls Jim onto his lap, not touching the welts yet. Jim seems a little surprised, but crouches over the blond responsively.

Sebastian strokes Jim's thighs and back, then lines his condom-covered self up and eases in with painstaking slowness. Holding Jim by the hips so the teen cannot just push down. It makes Sebastian shiver with the effort, but it seems worth it to tease Jim.

“ _More,_ damn it, Seb,” Jim growls.

Sebastian freezes for an instant. Blinks. _Seb._ That's new. The large blond nods and pushes up, deep.

Jim gives an unselfconscious moan of approval, still trying to push against Sebastian's restraining hands, but not too upset about being firmly held. “Better,” he praises. “Keep moving.”

Sebastian presses a kiss onto Jim's thin shoulder and obeys, languidly fucking the brunet.

As Jim squirms Sebastian slowly gives him more and more freedom to buck his slim hips. Sebastian's fingers move along to Jim's tender rear, stroking the sore skin teasingly.

Jim lowers his head to Sebastian's neck and nips the skin encouragingly.

“Oh, you like that, Sasslips?” Sebastian murmurs. He spanks Jim lightly over the bruising, causing the teen to hiss softly against Sebastian's collarbone.

Jim gives Sebastian's shoulder a firmer bite.

“You want more?” Sebastian whispers, leaning close as he can to Jim's ear.

“Obviously,” Jim mutters, a petulance in his voice which is compromised by a sliver of pleading.

Sebastian continues to thrust slowly and delivers a slap to Jim's buttock which makes the brunet jerk closer, groaning.

Sebastian wraps one arm around Jim's lower back, crushing him close. Jim looks surprised, but leans his arms along Sebastian's broad shoulders.

Sebastian thrusts up. Hard. Deep. Fast. Unexpected.

Jim gasps, shaken by a powerful frisson of pleasure. Sebastian continues, indefatigable in his efforts to prolong the sensation. He punctuates his swift movements with a few soft or searing smacks.

Jim clings to Sebastian's neck, chewing the skin to a mottled scarlet. Sebastian leans into the contact a little whilst increasing the vigour of his thrusts.

Jim makes a euphonious sound that Sebastian wants to hear every day for the rest of his life.

Suddenly Jim is intransigent in his need to merge his lips to Sebastian's own, and Sebastian has zero wish to stop him. Their mouths mash together messily, all lip and teeth and saliva.

Sebastian increases the power of his upward thrusts further, ignoring the noise of the wall being damaged by the headboard. He doesn't give a fuck about that, when he can actually _feel_ Jim's wet cock between their bellies getting ready to blow.

Jim comes hard, vocally, and the approving aggression in Sebastian's ear drum spurs him on.

Jim recovers slowly, his groin twitching. “Stop,” he mutters.

Sebastian FREEZES, giving Jim a concerned look. There is sweat and strain along the blond's face as though the effort to stop now, when he is evidently close, is mammoth.

Something clicks behind Jim's eyes, but Sebastian does not understand the expression at all. “Are you alright, Arty?” he asks.

Jim nods, pulling Sebastian close again. He mutters, “Just needed a moment; you can move now. Rough.” It's not exactly a lie, although the moment was just to see if Sebastian actually _would_ stop as promised.

“You sure?” Sebastian asks. “I can pull out.”

Jim wraps his thin arms around Sebastian's strong neck. “I told you to fuck me. Right now.”

Sebastian recognises the consent in Jim's voice and obeys.

Jim writhes encouragingly. The concinnity of their bodies is welcome. Sebastian knows Jim's experience does not come from a great place, but it is hard not to appreciate the brunet as a cognoscente of exceptional character. He knows how to ride a cock.

“You're still being rather gentle, Basher,” Jim teases. 

Sebastian closes his eyes and imagines throwing Jim into the wall. He sighs. “Do you want to explain a shattered pelvis and fractured shoulder or two to the emergency room staff whilst you're still riddled with stab wounds?”

Jim barks out a laugh. “Sweet talking me now?”

Sebastian snickers back, most of his breath taken by the force of his thrusts. “You'd hit me if I did, pretty thing.”

Jim snorts darkly, snaking up to bite the disgraced soldier's ear. “Don't even think about talking to me like that if you want to cum.”

Sebastian hum a little in response, something between agreement and obedience and arousal. “I'll be good.”

Jim laughs, reaches around for Sebastian's wrists and pulls them above the blond's head. “I doubt that, but let me help you out.”

Sebastian gaze is full of interest, his powerful body held down not by Jim's slender fingers but by the look in those dark eyes.

Jim rocks on his thighs, rapidly reaching a brutal pace. Sebastian's arousal had ebbed at being halted but seems even stronger now than before, and he has never seen anything so winsome as the smug, challenging look on Jim's face.

Sebastian comes with a roar, not moving his wrists, but raising Jim right off of the bed on strong hips.

Jim tilts his chin up as he feels filled with heat, smirking at Sebastian in a way that transfixed the blonde.

“Good boy,” Jim mocks.

Sebastian throws his head into the pillows and laughs richly. “Incorrigible brat,” he mutters in response, leaning up to kiss Jim's damp chest.

Jim flops down against Sebastian's filthy chest, suddenly feeling torpid but content. Sebastian throws his thick, tattooed arm around Jim's pale shoulders.

They lie in easy silence for a while, Sebastian uncaring as the semen festooning his body drips down unpleasantly. Jim wriggles out and reaches for Sebastian's discarded underwear to wipe down the worst of the mess.

The blond regards Jim's movements with a lazy indifference, not bothering to reach out for the 'cloth' when Jim tosses it over. Jim lies down again, not as bothered by the disgusting sweaty sheets as he normally would be. 

Sebastian lays a large hand delicately over Jim's bruises. Jim gives him an amused look, twisting around.

“So, now that your arse has been thoroughly pummelled,” Sebastian murmurs, a grin in his voice, “how would you like mine?”


	21. Peregrines and Pigeons

Jim is a pedant in his tastes, and wakes as usual atop Sebastian. The brunet usually attributes feelings of contentedness (because it's good) and wariness (because 'good' is an unfamiliar and fickle quality) to this experience. After yesterday, both of those feelings are significantly heightened.

Jim is happy, and surely that cannot be good.

Sebastian cracks an eye open. His voice is rough with sleep as he asks, “What are you worrying about now?”

Jim scowls. “I'm not worrying.”

Sebastian rolls onto his side a little so he can face the young man. “You bloody are,” Sebastian says with even certainty.

Jim glowers, not quite meeting Sebastian's gaze. “Can you not?”

Sebastian shrugs his wide shoulders, rising and lowering Jim's frame with the motion. “If you like, but I can't reassure you properly if you don't tell me what's bothering you.”

“I didn't ask you to,” Jim responds coolly.

Sebastian sighs. “Is that even relevant?”

Jim looks around sharply. “How is it not?”

“You shouldn't have to _ask_ me to give a damn about your feelings,” Sebastian points out archly.

“That implies I care whether you do,” Jim says disgustedly, pulling away.

Sebastian snorts derisively and pulls Jim back down. “Of course you do, or you wouldn't be so agitated.”

Jim's eyes flash warningly. “I'm not-”

Sebastian sighs and sits up to fix Jim under his gaze. “What are you so worried about?”

Jim's fists clench. “Leave me alone.”

Sebastian regards him calmly. “You know, if you really wanted me to, your body language wouldn't be leaning in towards me.”

Jim's scowl falls off of his face, replaced with an uncomprehending look. “What?” he snaps.

Sebastian points casually towards one of the military-looking tattoos on his arm. “I kind of made it my business to know when someone meant me harm or not, so I can read a person quite well.”

Jim grunts.

Sebastian fixes him with a look and continues, “You're upset about us being close again, so you're pushing me away, but you don't really want me to let you. So you might as well tell me _why_ you're upset.”

“I'm not upset,” Jim growls.

“If you don't want to tell me, that's your choice, but don't lie to me,” Sebastian states.

Jim looks up. Sebastian posture is still calm, but there's an edge of warning in his voice. “Or what?” Jim responds, tilting his chin defiantly.

“Or nothing, Jim,” Sebastian retorts. “This isn't a game.”

Jim crosses his arms and raises his brows. “Oh, isn't it?”

Sebastian gives the younger man an unimpressed look and pulls the stray into his strong arms. “I'm trying to help, you know.”

“I don't _want_ your fucking help,” Jim mutters.

“Another lie,” Sebastian comments drolly.

Jim spins around crossly. “I don't need _fixing_.”

“And I didn't say you were broken,” Sebastian points out.

Jim's expression flickers.

Sebastian gives him an arch look and briefly kisses Jim's temple. The brunet does not pull away.

“Come on,” Sebastian says, climbing out of bed and offering Jim his large hand. “If you don't want to talk about it we'll do something else to clear your head.”

Jim stares at the outstretched hand. “I don't want to fuck.”

“I wasn't offering,” Sebastian responds, taking Jim's hand and pulling him to his feet.

“What else is there?” Jim queries. 

“We'll go out,” Sebastian shrugs.

“I'm not your kept boy,” Jim states coldly. “You can't just buy me presents when you think I'm moody.”

“Like I'd inflict you on underpaid retail staff in the mood you're in,” Sebastian snorts.

Jim tilts his chin a little, still petulant. 

Sebastian sweeps the brunet under his muscled arm and kisses the pale teen's skull. “I imagine kept boys are probably a lot more pliant and agreeable, which would be far too bloody dull compared to you.”

“You say that like you enjoy it when I'm… like this,” Jim mutters.

Sebastian shrugs. “Everyone's entitled to their feelings, including you. It doesn't make me like you any less.”

Jim is quiet as he follows Sebastian downstairs.

They breakfast, shower, and then Sebastian sits Jim down in order to attend to the deeper stab wounds that still need a little attention.

Jim feels uncomfortable having Sebastian sit so close. “Are you still cross?” the brunet asks.

Sebastian looks up, kneeling on the floor before Jim's upright torso. “What? I haven't been cross.”

“Really?” Jim questions, looking down with a bemused expression.

Sebastian keeps his fingers working carefully over Jim's skin. “Your moods don't make me cross.”

“But...” Jim squirms a little and Sebastian has to lay a palm on mottled skin, reminding Jim not to wriggle yet. Jim looks down and swallows, licking his lips before muttering, “Last time...”

Sebastian finally stills his hands and looks up. “Last time you took things too far and got your bottom smacked for it. End of story. I'm not going to get cross at you for having feelings for fuck's sake.”

“But what if I go too far again?” Jim asks softly.

Sebastian shrugs. “Then you might be sleeping on your tummy 'til Christmastime, but it's not going to change anything.”

“Why not?” Jim asks, looking startled a moment later as though the words escaped without his design.

Sebastian shifts his weight and runs his gaze over Jim quietly. “Because I like having you around.”

Jim forces himself to ask the next question: “Why?”

Sebastian shrugs. “Because I like you. I enjoy your company.”

“That doesn't explain much,” Jim responds.

Sebastian shrugs, finishing his ministrations gently. “Do I really need an explanation for how I feel? You already find it hard enough to accept how we are.”

Jim frowns. “What does that mean?”

Sebastian stands, stretches, then ruffles Jim's scruffy hair even though he's sure it annoys the brunet a little. “Stop worrying so much.”

Jim gives him a confused, considering look, but Sebastian steps away and gathers some clothing.

“I'm working tonight,” Sebastian declares, changing the subject, “but we've got all day to do something. What do you feel like? We're not far from a lot of the parks.”

Jim regards Sebastian, wondering whether he seriously considers Jim to be the sort to stroll through greenery for leisure.

Sebastian closes his eyes to focus on directions and gestures out as he speaks. "There's Green Park or Hyde or Saint James'? Or Regent?”

Jim considers. “Up near Baker Street?”

Sebastian nods.

“Regent,” Jim decides. It's the furthest from the river, so it's the least likely park in which to run into anyone familiar with him.

Jim and Sebastian are quiet as they walk to and through the park. Nevertheless, Jim finds himself relaxing his stiff shoulders and drifting closer to Sebastian. The blond carries himself with an insouciance Jim envies.

“Oh. Look!”

Jim turns at Sebastian's abrupt gesture in time to see a blur of bluish charcoal in the sky.

“What is it?” Jim asks.

“Peregrin falcon,” Sebastian explains. “You only normally see them around twilight, when they hunt the bats.”

“It's big,” Jim comments.

“Female,” Sebastian explains. “The males are smaller.”

“You hunt them too?” Jim asks.

Sebastian shrugs. “They're fast, so it's fun, but they mate for life so...” Sebastian trails off. “I've only ever seen one bonded pair around here.”

“You don't shoot bonded pairs?” Jim asks. There's a sliver of teasing in his voice.

Sebastian looks at him. “It depends what I'm shooting. They're not rare in England overall, but they are around here. Would you want to be the last of your kind?”

Jim snorts. “I've always felt like the only one of my kind.”

Sebastian nods, not offering a word about feeling like a cuckoo in Sir Augustus' world.

“The female can fly upside down to take prey from her mate,” Sebastian announces after a beat.

Jim nods, interested. “I'd like to be a bird,” he comments, watching the falcon sweeping after a doomed pigeon.

“You've got eyes like a bird of prey,” Sebastian murmurs, his own gaze still on the bird.

“Yellow?” Jim snorts.

“Piercing. Intelligent,” Sebastian replies, glancing back.

“Oh,” Jim responds.

They watch the female demolish the pigeon.

“Don't most birds migrate?” Jim asks.

“British peregrines are hardy enough for the weather,” Sebastian explains. He nods towards a small flock of nearby pigeons. “And their food source is fairly stable.”

Jim fixes his gaze on the pigeons, whose toes and sometimes feet have rotted away to stumps due to the toxins in their diet and the acid in their urine. He feels both disgust and affinity for the unloved creatures.

“You're too uncommon to be a pigeon,” Sebastian comments as though he can read Jim's thoughts.

Jim is unsure whether to smile or frown. “Maybe I'll come back as one as punishment for judging the plebs.”

Sebastian imagines Jim as a pigeon, squatting smugly on the rotted statue of some rich, old, white man. Then he imagines Jim as a seagull, swooping down with sadistic glee to rob holidaymakers. Sebastian laughs to himself and pulls Jim close.

Jim's expression twitches and interdicts public displays of affection, so Sebastian leads him somewhere bosky with a twinkle of blue eyes.

Jim surveys the woodsy area skeptically, wondering whether Sebastian wants to 'make use' of the privacy, but the blond merely places a chaste kiss on Jim's lips then tugs the brunet back into the clearing.

“You're strange,” Jim mutters.

Sebastian glances at him. “How so?”

Whatever Jim means to respond with is swallowed as a burly man around Sebastian's age approaches them.

“Moran,” he greets. The word is heavy with distaste.

Sebastian's lips turn into a sneer. “Stamford.”

Stamford's gaze cuts from Sebastian to Jim. “I'd heard you'd disgraced yourself,” the man drawls. “Is this what you were caught out on? Bit too open with your buggering?”

Jim notices heat rush up Sebastian's neck, but it isn't shame: it's anger. Sebastian's body is stiff as he growls, “Careful, Archie.”

Stamford laughs, although his footing is ready for a fight. “Haven't you heard, _Basher_? I'm the star pair of fists now that you've been kicked out. I'm off duty because the cunt supposed to fight me forfeited, and it was too late to pack me off to Kenya with the rest of my boys.”

Kenya is one of the most boring bases either soldier has ever been stationed at, to the point that Sebastian had started to consider playing frisbee in a minefield to crack the edges off of the utter monotony.

But that isn't the key piece of information Stamford has provided. “When _you_ say forfeited it sounds awfully like 'was incapacitated',” Sebastian comments.

Stamford seems to be rather touchy about that insinuation. His lips tighten whitely.

“Fuck off back to anonymity,” Sebastian sneers.

Stamford's eyes flash, and that is all the warning Sebastian needs to nudge Jim out of the way and sidestep the incoming lunge.

Sebastian whirls around and kicks Stamford to the floor. “Grow up, Archie,” Sebastian mutters.

“Fucking faggot,” Stamford snarls, tackling Sebastian's waist and knocking the blonde to the ground.

Jim steps forward, but Sebastian halts him with a look. The blond flips himself on top of his attacker and punches Stamford heavily. He is quite tempted to beat the other man to an unidentifiable bloody pulp, and may well have done so if Jim was not present to witness it.

Instead, Sebastian merely punches until he know Stamford won't get up, then stands and gives Jim a searching look. Wondering if the younger man is appalled or frightened.

Jim's expression is unreadable until he turns and glances at Stamford with an expression of disgust. “That why they call you Basher?” he asks Sebastian.

Sebastian sucks his swollen, ruptured knuckles, gazing over them to Jim. “No,” the blond answers shortly.

“How's your hands?” Jim asks.

Sebastian shrugs. “They'll heal.”

Jim nods, then astonishes Sebastian by swinging around to land a brutal kick into Stamford's face.

Jim shoves his hands in his tracksuit pockets and begins walking. “Come on,” he says. “This space won't stay quiet forever.”

Feeling slightly dazed, Sebastian trots after the brunet.

They don't talk about what has just happened, making idle small talk about their surroundings instead. Some puddles near the water are frozen at the edges, and Sebastian makes a comment about Hyde Park being wonderful during Christmastime. 

Jim wonders if he'll be around to see it.

When they get home Sebastian peels off his jacket, dumping it on the couch, and holds his hands under the kitchen tap with a small grimace.

“Need me to patch you up?” Jim asks.

Sebastian gives him a pondering look. “They'll be fine, but I'd appreciate a kiss.”

“That'll make your hands sting,” Jim laughs softly. “Will your lips suffice?”

“Grand,” Sebastian responds, stretching out the word to parody Jim's much softer brogue.

“Arsehole,” Jim mutters, but pulls Sebastian's head down for a kiss.

Sebastian kisses back enthusiastically and watches Jim with half-lidded eyes as the shorter man eventually pulls away. “I believe you're fond of my hole, actually.”

Jim snorts. “You couldn't sit still for breakfast so I wouldn't be making any offers if I were you.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “You need fed and medicated first anyway, but if you're nice to me I might treat you before work.”

As usual, Sebastian prevaricates on exactly what he does, but Jim doesn't press. Instead he asks, “Treat me how?”

“Would you like a blow job on my couch?”


	22. Cut

“Why is my lunch not prepared yet?” Jim demands playfully, dropping himself onto the couch and resting his head on Sebastian's lap.

The blond grins down at him. “For someone who's not a kept boy you seem to be awfully spoilt.”

Jim smiles. “So spoilt you haven't even fed me. That's a human rights breach, you know.”

Sebastian laughs.”I'm terribly sorry. What would Sir like today?”

Jim shrugs. “Chef's choice. But nothing too fancy.”

Sebastian snorts. “You're insulting my cooking now? Are you even capable of boiling an egg?”

“I can boil an egg!” Jim huffs indignantly. “I just don't need to when I've got you.”

Sebastian sighs and rolls his eyes. “Well yes, that is true. I've ruined you; you're bloody spoiled.”

Jim grins. “If you're nice to me maybe I'll make you toast tomorrow.”

“Dry toast?” Sebastian questions with a smile.

“Like you said, it's bad to spoil a man,” Jim responds with faux haughtiness.

“Oh, I'm your _man_ now,” Sebastian purrs, looking down at Jim playfully.

Jim scowls and sits up quickly. “That is _not_ what I said.”

“Shh now darling, don't ruin the moment,” Sebastian teases.

Jim huffs and pushes the blond. “You're such a jerk, Basher.”

“Is that any way to talk to your man?” Sebastian sniffs, smirking and getting up to make lunch.

Jim trots after him. “I could cut out your tongue,” the brunet mutters.

Sebastian looks around and pulls Jim against his chest. “Oh, I don't doubt that, but you _wouldn't_ because you like what I can do with it.”

Jim tilts his chin in consideration. “Feed me first.”

Sebastian kisses Jim's bruised cheek. “Since you're a good boy.”

Jim snorts. “Am I now?”

Sebastian's lips twist in amusement and he positions Jim between his chest and the work surface so he can keep hold of Jim whilst cooking. “Well no, you're my spoilt brat, but you haven't managed to do anything naughty _today_.”

Jim leans close and tilts his head up. “The day isn't over yet.”

Sebastian hums in agreement, reaching over to retrieve clean utensils. “And you're not too old for a time out, so no nonsense whilst I'm using the very hot hob.”

Jim glowers. “I'm not _five_ , Seb.”

Seb again, huh? Sebastian smiles and spins Jim around, pushing him against the counter for a kiss. “Coulda fooled me,” Sebastian whispers teasingly when they pull apart, “the amount of time you spend in my lap demanding attention.”

Jim pulls himself spritely onto the cool marble and kicks out at Sebastian a little. “I do not, you sick fuck.”

Sebastian feigns a gasp, quickly boiling water in a pot and tossing in some salt and oil that Jim probably regards as unnecessarily fancy. “Does someone need his mouth washed out with soap?”

Jim's shoulders shake with laughter and he points a vegetable knife at Sebastian. “Don't you dare.”

The blond takes away the knife and lightly taps the back of Jim's hand. “Sharp knives are only for _big_ boys, Jimmy dear,” he teases, pouring some pasta-like concoction tidily into the bubbling water.

Jim glares. “I've warned you about that, Basher. It's _Jim_ , or James if you must, but not _Jimmy_.”

Sebastian reaches for a chopping board as he presses a kiss on Jim's tight jaw. “But Jimmy is _cute_.”

“You won't think it's fucking cute when I cut your lips off,” Jim responds darkly.

Sebastian lowers the heat under the saucepan so he can kiss Jim at length. “You'd miss them too much.”

“No soap threat this time?” Jim asks breathily.

“I'd have more fun spanking you,” Sebastian murmurs, half listening for the food boiling over as he places sloppy kisses along Jim's face and neck.

“You're so horrible to me, Sebastian,” Jim sighs, wrapping his legs around the blond's.

“But I make it up to you, don't I, my spoiled pet?” Sebastian responds fondly.

Jim flushes. “I'm not your _pet_.”

Sebastian grins, pulling back ever so slightly to prepare some tomatoes and peppers before the pasta burns. Jim's legs remain around his own.

“Does that bug you more than _Jimmy_?” Sebastian asks.

Jim huffs, uncertain. “My name is _Jim_.”

Sebastian gives him a sidelong look and dumps the chopped vegetables into the pot. “Okay, pet.”

Jim snatches up the knife and points it at the larger man warningly.

Sebastian chuckles and ducks close slowly to brush his tongue against the wet flat of the blade.

Jim swallows.

“Lunch first,” Sebastian orders, recognising the heat in Jim's gaze.

“But-”

“My spoiled boy demanded lunch and that is exactly what he is getting,” Sebastian insists, twisting around for plates.

“Rude,” Jim huffs, twirling the small knife in his fingers.

Sebastian catches the blade swiftly. “What did I tell you about little boys and knives, young man?”

Jim gives him a cool look. “Maybe I wasn't listening.”

Sebastian traces the knife handle along Jim's jaw. “What am I going to do to you?”

Jim's lips spread into a sharklike grin.

Sebastian pulls him close for a deep kiss, throwing the dirty knife into the sink with a clatter. They stay together until the food starts to hiss and spit.

Jim pulls away. “You better not have burned that because I am not waiting for you to make more.”

Sebastian hums. “I didn't stir it enough, so it'll be burnt at the bottom. I'll give you the good bits, don't worry.”

Jim tilts his chin. “Damn right you will.”

Sebastian laughs, slapping the brat's thigh lightly, and extracts himself to turn down the heat and examine the food. The water is long evaporated, so the pot doesn't need strained. Instead Sebastian dishes up quickly and dumps the sorry-looking pot into the sink, filling it with water.

Jim jumps down from the counter and approaches the plates, stealing a burnt piece from Sebastian's.

The blond laughs, licking the wooden spoon in his hand before swiping it lightly against Jim's side. “That's mine!”

Jim continues chewing, looking pleased with himself. He shrugs nonchalantly.

Sebastian purses his lips and swats the unrepentant brunet again, then tidies up quickly.

Jim fetches forks and carries them over to the couch on the plates.

“What do you want to drink?” Sebastian asks.

“Absolutely not acai,” Jim responds.

Sebastian swings open the fridge door and examines its contents. “We've still got some of that blueberry sludge you like.”

“Grand,” Jim replies warmly, stressing his accent in a way that makes Sebastian smile.

“Yes you are,” the blond responds, swiping the two boxes of medication from the breakfast bar. He carries them and the juice over to the coffee table and settles beside Jim.

The slim man is already chewing happily. “You're not entirely useless,” he comments.

Sebastian laughs. “Thanks, pet.”

Jim's shoulders straighten and he gives the blond a look of stern displeasure, but continues to shovel food into his mouth.

“That good, huh?” Sebastian grins.

“No, it's burnt as hell,” Jim grumbles.

“It is not,” Sebastian retorts. “ _Mine_ is burnt.”

Jim shrugs. “Couldn't have happened to a nicer person.”

Sebastian stabs a crab-shaped parcel from his plate and points it at Jim. “You'd better be a good boy if you want me to let you play with my knives.”

“For real?” Jim asks softly.

“If you want to,” Sebastian agrees.

Jim pushes his food around. “I thought I had to learn your limits first?”

Sebastian shrugs. “I trust you. If it gets too messy we've got plenty of gauze.”

Jim gives him a searching look.

“Eat your food,” Sebastian prompts. “You won't be playing with anything if you don't take your meds first.”

Jim takes a quick mouthful. Chews. Then he swallows quickly and asks, “Do you… Do you want to cut _me_?”

Sebastian leans his head back thoughtfully. “Eventually? If you wanted me to? But not yet.”

“Why not?” Jim asks.

“Because you haven't known me long enough to determine whether you'd want me to leave marks on your skin.”

Jim raises his brows. “And yet you've known me long enough?”

“That's different,” Sebastian decides, taking another bite.

“I'm not a little, broken bird, Sebastian,” Jim states, his lips pursed in distaste.

“No, but you're young, and I've had a lot more practice discovering what I'm comfortable with.”

“I think you underestimate my experience levels,” Jim mutters.

“I'd rather that than push you into something you weren't ready for,” Sebastian declares calmly.

“I'll let you know when,” Jim declares. Sebastian watches him for a moment then nods.

They finish eating quietly. The brunet takes his pills.

Jim takes Sebastian's plate and carries them both over to the kitchen. “Now?” he asks.

“If you like,” Sebastian responds softly.

Jim nods, and the blond surprises him by standing and walking towards the stairs.

“Don't we need a knife first?” Jim protests, gesturing to the kitchen drawers. Sebastian does not keep a knife block on display.

Sebastian gives him an unusually wolfish grin. “I was going to offer you my bedroom knives, unless you've already got a favourite in mind.”

Jim perks up, instantly interested, and quickly follows Sebastian upstairs.

The blond kisses Jim's cheek. “Give me a moment until I lift them down,” he purrs, disappearing into one of the other bedrooms.

Jim waits, excitement pulling up the corners of his mouth a little madly.

Sebastian carries a wooden box through and kneels before Jim, opening it. “Take your pick from the top,” he offers.

Jim gazes at the layered box's contents with interest. “What about the others?”

Sebastian smirks. “Don't be greedy.”

“But they're...”

“Yes, but you'll need to be patient if you want me to trust you with my big boys' toys,” Sebastian teases.

Jim tilts his chin. “You already said I was a little boy who couldn't play with knives.”

Sebastian grins. “Do you want me to put them away then?”

Jim snatches up the box, and Sebastian laughs, crawling over to kiss Jim's jaw.

Jim turns his head, pulling Sebastian into a proper kiss. They sit together on the carpet for a while, their hands roaming each other as they explore each other's mouths.

“Where do you want me to start?” Jim whispers. There's a darkness in his voice that thrills Sebastian down to his core.

“Somewhere I can see what you're doing,” Sebastian declares.

“Scared of what you can't see?” Jim purrs.

Sebastian gives him a look which isn't exactly a denial. “If you hit anything important I can respond a lot better if I can see it.”

Jim smirks. “How about your thigh? You did say I spend too much time there.”

“I didn't say 'too much' I said 'a lot',” Sebastian responds, but spreads his leg out obediently.

Jim strokes the intended area then pats Sebastian's knee. “Trousers off.”

Sebastian takes a kiss. “Yes, Sir.”

Jim sniggers. “Oh, so it goes from 'pet' to 'Sir' as soon as I'm about to cut you?”

Sebastian grins. “Yes, pet.”

Jim chooses a knife in an instant and thrusts it under Sebastian's chin. Sebastian forces himself not to react.

“Really, Sebastian?” Jim scolds.

The blond gives a rueful but not contrite face. “Sorry, _Sir_.”

Jim taps the knife against Sebastian's Adam's apple. “Better.”

Sebastian smiles, his gaze sliding from the knife to Jim's glittering eyes.

Jim swiftly drops the knife to Sebastian's thigh and traces ever so lightly along the skin. Sebastian bites his lip, watching with interest.

“How deep do you like it?” Jim asks.

“Don't sever any arteries and we're good,” Sebastian responds, his throat suddenly dry.

“That leaves a lot of… wriggle room,” Jim purrs, leaning just a little bit heavier with the knife.

Sebastian blinks, focusing on not squirming.

Abruptly, Jim slashes lightly across the skin.

Sebastian gasps at the burn.

“Really, Seb?” Jim whispers. “We've hardly started.”

Sebastian grins. “More.”

Jim slaps him. “More. Please. Sir.”

Sebastian readjusts his mouth and parrots, “More, _please_ , Sir.”

Jim complies, dragging the blade in a way that makes Sebastian bite through his lip. Blood blooms and spills over the edges of both pink wounds.

They play for a while, Jim's erratic scratches slowly congregating to form a hatched 'J'.

There is an insistent buzzing noise. The two men look around, a little startled. Blood drips down Sebastian's skin and gathers under Jim's short nails.

“It's your phone,” Jim says mildly.

“It's closer to you, toss it over,” Sebastian responds.

Jim holds up his hands. “I'll get blood on it.”

Sebastian laughs in a way Jim does not understand. “That is not a problem.”

Jim tosses it over, admiring the way Sebastian's muscles move as the man grasps the object in midair.

Sebastian surveys the screen of his work phone and curses in a way that makes Jim look at him questioningly. 

Sebastian is quiet for an uncomfortable beat then confesses, “It's… a job. I need to leave town for a few days.” 

Jim ossifies.

The stillness worries Sebastian. The blond is scared that Jim will be gone when he returns. 

Jim is unsure whether he'll stay, discomfort buzzing in his brain. He wears an imperturbable face as though the news does not make him cold. Jim has always known that trouble is ineluctable around him. 

The brunet can be loquacious or silent when he's unhappy, and right now he's silent. Sebastian hates it.

“The flight leaves tomorrow night,” the tattooed blond offers reluctantly, blood dripping forgotten down his thigh. 

Jim glances up in vague surprise. “The flight?” 

The blond shrugs. “I'm good at what I can do,” Sebastian mutters. 

Jim wants to ask _what_ Sebastian does, but doesn't. Jim wants to ask Sebastian _not_ to go, but doesn't.


	23. Goodbye

The entire day seems painful. Both men lie in bed silently in the morning, aware they are both awake, but reluctant to move or speak. Terrified to acknowledge that yesterday's announcement leaves a sick feeling in both of their guts.

They might have stayed like that all day if Sebastian had not noticed when Jim's breathing gradually started to become tighter and more laboured.

“Do you need your painkillers?” Sebastian whispers.

The hushed tone does not seem ridiculous this morning, and Jim even mirrors it as he meekly agrees, “Please.”

Sebastian plants a swift kiss on Jim's cheek and vaults out of bed, disappearing quickly downstairs as though his thigh is not swollen and raw.

Jim gnaws his lip, drawing his knees to his patchwork stomach. He's simultaneously relieved that Sebastian has left whilst still wanting to call the blond back to the bed.

Clattering noises come from downstairs as Sebastian rapidly prepares breakfast. Jim clutches the duvet and smiles a little as the smell of cooking food reaches his nose.

Sebastian knows Jim finds a hot breakfast comforting.

The smile falls off of Jim's face. That's not something to smile about. Especially… since Sebastian is leaving.

Sebastian bounds upstairs with with breakfast. He does have trays, but rarely uses them, instead shoving the medicine in the pocket of his joggers and balancing an uncomfortably cool juice cartoon in his arms whilst he holds the plates in his large hands.

Jim pulls himself up into a sitting position, hunched like the elderly or hungover, and snatches at his food. He savours it less than he would like to in order to be able to gobble his pills sooner.

Sebastian notices, breaking a bit off of his own hot roll to share with Jim. The brunet accepts it wordlessly.

“I'll leave you money on the breakfast bar to keep you entertained and fed whilst I'm gone,” Sebastian declares. “You know, in case you actually can't boil an egg.”

Jim snorts, but there's a strained, mirthless edge to it.

“I'll be back on Friday,” Sebastian reasserts. “You can survive without me that long, can't you, Sasslips?”

Jim sneers, but it's all wrong. “I can manage perfectly well without you, Basher, I promise you.”

Sebastian presses his lips together. He has the terrible, horrible feeling that Jim might not be waiting on Friday.

Jim rolls the carton around in his hands. He's not really thirsty but needs something to fidget with.

Sebastian decides to assuage his worries a little longer by demanding, “Come here, I need to make your memory last longer.” 

Jim gives him a surprised look, but puts the juice carton aside.

Yes. If Sebastian's leaving then Jim definitely wants… whatever Sebastian has in mind.

They spend most of the day in bed, tangled up in each other even in the strained lulls. Sebastian occasionally leaves to retrieve food, but does not dawdle. He needs to be as close to Jim as possible.

Eventually Jim nudges Sebastian and gestures to the blond to check the time on his still blood-smeared phone.

Time to be getting ready to go. Fuck.

Sebastian reluctantly pulls himself out of bed, showers quickly and dresses. He returns to the corner of the bed, sitting watching Jim, unsure what to say.

Jim does not look back. He sits with his back against the headboard and his elbows strewn over his drawn up knees.

“I'd better go,” Sebastian says eventually.

Jim closes his eyes, feeling the mattress shift as Sebastian removes his weight from it.

“See you on Friday,” Sebastian announces. There's a hollowness to the words that cuts Jim.

“Bye,” Jim mutters.

Sebastian doesn't know if it's too much to kiss Jim goodbye, so he doesn't, and regrets it all the way into the airport and beyond.

Jim watches Sebastian leave with an eldritch look to his dark eyes. The brunet stays where he sits for a long time. The apartment darkens around him as it turns to night. He stares at the doorway.

Sebastian cannot sit comfortably on the plane when he finally flies out. Normally the sensation fills him with a fuzzy sense of embarrassment and pleasure, but not tonight.

Tonight it's bittersweet. The possibility that Jim might not be home when Sebastian gets back puts the blonde in a state of fantods that the other passengers presume is a distaste for flying. They try not to draw the attention of the large, strong, distressed blond.

Sebastian does not notice. His body aches like a goodbye and he pushes his short fingernails into his palms like he used to do when he felt helpless.


	24. Gone

Sebastian's job is not particularly difficult, but it's habit and muscle memory more than anything else that gets him through it over the next few days. The money's good, but he'd have turned it down if he was in a position to say no.

Sebastian cannot remember being as comfortable in his own skin as he is around Jim. Which is ridiculous, because Jim is volatile and chaotic and bipolar in his moods and…

Everything Sebastian craves?

He's wicked, and affectionate, and soothing. Fascinating. Perfect.

And most likely gone, gone, gone by now, because Sebastian knows a runner when he sees one.

Jim does not have a mobile as far as Sebastian is aware, but the blonde phones the apartment as soon as it's morning in England.

No one picks up, and Sebastian does not dare call again lest it confirm his worry that Jim is already gone.

He has no idea that Jim got all the way out of bed on the first morning to squint at the damned persistent, noisy thing. The brunet had supposed someone was looking for Sebastian, and that it would not be clever for Basher's Irish fuck toy to play secretary. 

The phone's shrill ringing agitates Jim. Reminds him that he is alone.

He pours himself a glass of water then takes his tablets on an empty stomach. He looks around the sparse, white space, which seems so much bigger and far less friendly when the big, blond oaf isn't padding around breathing and taking up space.

It is fucking ridiculous to miss Sebastian so much. Jim has survived for years with no one. He is perfectly content with his own company.

He should be thrilled with the prospect of staying alone in a great place in Mayfair with no one to bother him.

It is utterly irrational to want Sebastian to be here being bothersome.

Jim frowns, and slumps down across the breakfast bar. He scowls at the healing gashes across his forearms, which are shiny, strawberry milkshake pink against the blue-white marble of his ghostly skin.

If he stops being a spoilt, little house cat and returns to being a feral thing there's going to be a lot more marks like this, and perhaps worse besides.

He should leave now, before he becomes too tame. Soft. Forgetful of how to take care of himself.

Because he was doing such a stellar job before Sebastian signed him out of the hospital.

Jim thinks about the scrap of paper he has kept, with Sebastian's phone number on it. He could use the house phone to call.

Which is ridiculous, because who even has a landline these days?

Which is ridiculous, because what the fuck would he say to Sebastian?

Which is ridiculous, because why would Sebastian want to hear Jim's voice?

Which is ridiculous, because why would Sebastian be happy about Jim making an international call to who knows where?

He didn't actually say where. Surely that's telling enough that Jim is just a frivolity. Not someone who gets told things. Not someone important.

And yet. And yet, Sebastian has left a _ridiculous_ amount of money on the counter top to supposedly keep Jim 'entertained and fed'. There's more than enough money there to cover a hundred phone calls. More, probably. Jim doesn't know what an international call costs. He's never needed to.

It is an awful lot of money for what is barely five days. Even with the lackadaisical way that Sebastian spends money, the blond cannot possibly think that Jim could use up all those notes in less than a week.

He could invite round Mrs H's 'favourite nieces' and still not blow that kind of money. 

Jim has suspicions that Sebastian is worried he'll run back to the streets. It's not a pleasant feeling.

Jim wonders whether Sebastian wants him to fuck off back to Southwark. That's an even worse feeling.

Sebastian does not hear from Jim at all on Monday. Or on Tuesday. He works with a strange, sick feeling in his gut, like a comrade got hurt bad enough that they're never going to get him back to base.

There's usually a smooth sort of focus when Sebastian works. A clarity in thought, in life, in everything. It is what Sebastian does. It is his purpose in life.

It does not feel like that today. Sebastian's head feels underwater and his hearing feels shot to fuck like he's under fire from all directions, and if it wasn't such a bloody, easy job it would probably bring a death sentence of its own for practically sleepwalking through it.

But Sebastian can work under enormous pressure.

And this isn't pressure. It's not.

It's _not_.

It's fucking torture.

Jim's mood fluctuates between states of distress and acedia. He tells himself his feelings are incorporeal, meaningless, but it does not help. 

It does not help one bloody bit.

Jim doesn't take his medication on Tuesday. It hurts, but not enough, and it doesn't help.

Sebastian continues working away. Worrying. He tries to swallow his lugubrious mood but it is not entirely a successful effort. His hands shake a little as he puts away his equipment, and when has that ever happened before?

On a total piss take of a walk in the park job like this?

He's almost a quarter of a century old and this is fucking ridiculous.

How the fuck can he be having withdrawal symptoms over a cranky little piece of tail?

With those fucking dangerous eyes and that startlingly trusting smile.

They've been apart for two motherfucking nights and Sebastian is already losing the plot.

And he feels guilty calling Jim a piece of tail even in his head. Which is stupid. Fucking, fucking stupid.

Almost as stupid as staring at three phones in a hotel room hating that not one of them lights up with a Mayfair number.

Jim doesn't sleep. The bed smells like Sebastian, which is upsetting in a bizarre way that twists Jim's stomach and must mean he's more damaged from the attack nineteen days ago than he supposed.

The couch isn't comfortable. The bedroom where they played with one of Sebastian's guns during the fireworks reminds Jim too vividly of… everything.

The other bedroom doesn't remind him of enough. The bedding does not smell like Sebastian.

Jim wanders around the apartment soul searching during the night, feeling even more spectral than his milky complexion normally hints at. He misses his magnanimous, handsome companion.

He fucking wants Sebastian to be home.

The 15th is the antepenultimate day and it's when Jim feels the urge to smoke. He takes the keys left beside the pile of money (and since when does Sebastian have more than one set of keys? How is he going to get back in?) and peels a small note to shove in his pocket.

Jim stiffens in the lift, feeling like a fraud in his expensive tracksuit and trainers without Sebastian's refined accent to normalise his appearance, and worries that Mrs Halifax will have something trite and cutting to say in the reception area.

Thankfully it's empty, not even the mortally bored door staff, and Jim slopes outside.

He has no fucking idea where to get cigarettes amidst all of these fancy shops.

Jim shoves his hands in his pockets and tucks his head down as he walks. Invisible.

Eventually he finds a scruffy little convenience shop where the staff don't even glance at his lack of stubble, only his money, as they pass over a box of expensive little cancer sticks.

And a lighter. Jim will need a lighter.

There's a few cheap ones stacked in neat rows like toy soldiers on a tray on the counter. One with a tiger's face stares back at Jim, making the brunet uncomfortable, but he picks it up and pays for it anyway.

He shoves it into his pocket so he doesn't have to look at it. As he walks home he plays with the cigarette box instead, mildly fascinated by the disgusting photographs decorating it.

Like he's ever listened to a warning about what's good for him in his life.

Jim's spine stiffens as he approaches the flat. Concerned that the door staff have returned and won't let him back in without Sebastian.

But they're still not there, and probably wouldn't care anyway. Not with what Mrs H pays them for 'discretion.'

Jim slips upstairs, ripping open the little box as soon as he's inside. His fingers drum along the cellophane. Anxious.

Jim pulls out a stick and rolls it over his fingers. It's a distracted, skillful thing. Like he had nothing better to do growing up than to practice this move unconsciously.

The brunet looks around, suddenly realising that Sebastian never tastes of smoke, and probably does not like the smell. He probably doesn't even have an ash tray.

Jim is tempted to smoke right on the couch, just to pettily ingrain the stink into the fancy leather, but he feels a little guilty about that almost immediately.

He kicks off his trainers and heads over to one of the large windows, cracking it open as much as he is able. It's stiff, like the apartment is rarely lived in.

Weird.

Unless Sebastian hates the noise and smell of the traffic. It's so much louder with the window open.

Tough.

Jim balances on the window sill and reluctantly draws the lighter from his pocket. It seems to mock or judge him with its fat, stupid face, and Jim might have thrown it out of the window if he didn't really want to smoke.

He lights the cigarette, staring as it burns, then leans against the window frame. Watches the world go on as he takes a drag, then another. 

He coughs a little. His lungs resent him, the smoke, and all the damp places he's ever breathed in.

Jim inhales again, breathing the smoke through his nose like he's a child in the playground. A dragon amongst squawking men.

Jim closes his eyes.

Gets up to get another when his first burns down to the filter, being flicked unceremoniously down into the gutter below.

Jim smokes three over the course of the day, then retreats to bed. It still smells like Sebastian, but now Jim smells like smoke, and the unfamiliar combination makes it easier for Jim to pick up a pillow and squeeze it close, inhaling Sebastian's scent.

Jim's habits often run to the pernicious when he feels alone, but he manages to avoid anything especially injurious or destructive beyond the smoking and neglecting to take his medication properly. He's not a child, and he definitely doesn't feel bloody lonely.

But he cries. When his eyes first water he tells himself it's just from the smoke, but he cannot lie to himself when his body is wracked with sobs.

He hates this. He hates it.

Jim sits up on the window ledge all night and the scream of the traffic cannot drown out his pathetic weeping.


	25. Malfeasance

Jim is dressed and ready to leave when Friday rolls around. He has shoes on his feet, money in his pocket, and he actually takes his medicine, as well as his pick of the food in the fridge.

He supposes he can leave the keys with the reception staff.

Only.

Only he just cannot bring himself to leave. He sits down by the private lift for a while, brooding. Wondering how he can be so weak.

Jim sighs, gets up and settles back on the couch. Rocks. Twitches. Fidgets.

Gets up.

Pours juice.

Has to pee.

Paces.

Jim curls his clean hands around his face and holds in a frustrated scream, blowing air out near his eyeballs. It's not a pleasant feeling, but it stops his lips from tremouring.

He throws himself back onto the couch. Fidgets. Wraps his arms around his knees.

They don't seem as bony as usual. What's up with that?

Jim jumps to his feet, frowning. He crashes upstairs to one of the bedroom and stands before the floorlength mirror. Rips off his zipper and his teeshirt in one go.

Stares.

He is literally getting soft.

Jim swallows. Ignores the scars. Runs his thin fingers along where his ribs should be. Only. Only the bones stay under his fingers. His fingers don't drop in between them.

He looks… almost healthy.

He looks miserable and the skin under his eyes is even darker than usual and his torso is littered with slash marks… but he doesn't look homeless.

He looks clean. Fed. A kid who hasn't run away yet.

Jim grabs his clothing and bolts out of the room. Utterly freaked out.

And then a noise screeches through the apartment.

Sounds like an intercom buzzer, although Jim's never heard it before. There is so much material between this apartment and the one beneath it that the others are never heard.

Jim chews his lip and stumbles over to where there is a thing which might be an intercom. Pulls on his clothes. Presses a button dubiously.

Moments later noise comes from the lift shaft.

Jim doesn't know whether to freeze or pace.

He should have gone. _He should have gone._

Before Jim can figure out what to do (and when does he ever not have a plan of escape??) the lift doors slide open.

Sebastian.

Sebastian, looking drawn, and hopeful, and really bloody tired.

“Arty.”

Sebastian dumps his heavy bag not quite outside of the lift doors, blocking them, but neither noticing or caring.

He steps quickly towards Jim, who stiffens his shoulders and clenches his white hands, but _it doesn't matter_ , because abruptly Sebastian has Jim in his arms and is swinging him in the air for a moment.

Then suddenly Sebastian seems to remember himself and quickly places Jim back on the floor.

“Sorry,” he mutters, sounding gruff and embarrassed. “I didn't know if you'd- I'm glad- ...I'm glad… I've fucking missed you.”

Jim arches a brow. “Relax, won't you? It's been less than a week.”

But his voice is far too tight and telling, and Sebastian's shoulders do relax ever so slightly at the not-confession.

Jim swallows at Sebastian's impression. “I-”

Sebastian can see the struggle on the brunet's face. “You managed to boil an egg?” he suggests helpfully.

Jim manages to look both relieved and indignant. He swipes at Sebastian's strong chest. “I managed fine, you prick.”

Sebastian pouts playfully. “I hoped you'd miss me.”

Jim blinks. “What for, you nutcase?”

“Well if you're totally self-sufficient now what am I good for?” Sebastian teases. “I'll have to cook you something special tonight to ensure you don't get bored of me.”

Jim tilts his head. “Aren't you tired?”

“Yes,” Sebastian agrees honestly, “but not too tired to take care of you.”

Jim shakes his head, feeling odd and uncomfortable as he suggests, “Leave it, let's call food in. You can cook for me tomorrow.”

Sebastian beams. Confirmation that Jim's staying still. The sight twists Jim's stomach.

Maybe not in a bad way.

“Are you sure?” Sebastian asks. “I don't mind.”

“You look knackered. I'd rather not have to eat around burned food again.”

“I did not burn your food,” Sebastian sniffs. “I burned _my_ food, and you were worth it.”

Jim's stomach twists again.

Sebastian pulls out one of his phones. “So what do you feel like?”

Jim shrugs, and betrays his own pride by leaning against Sebastian. “Don't mind.”

Sebastian cups Jim's jaw, tilting upwards for direct eye contact. “Are you alright? You don't sound like my usual, bossy brat?”

“All the wild parties whilst you've been away,” Jim deadpans.

Sebastian snorts and kisses Jim's cheek. “Like you could tolerate people.”

Sebastian checks a drawer for a menu, because stuff trying to remember which phone has the takeaway details.

Jim watches his broad back. “I tolerate you,” he states.

Sebastian looks over his shoulder and smiles. “I'm glad.”

He slings an arm around Jim and orders enough for both of them. Jim doesn't normally eat much, but he looks like he's in real need of a proper feed. Sebastian could really benefit from a proper meal too, if he's honest.

Hard to eat when picturing Jim not doing so.

Jim wraps his fingers in the zip of Sebastian's jacket.

Sebastian looks down. “I'm sorry, am I making the place look untidy? Ought I have hung up my jacket by now?”

That wasn't what Jim meant at all, he just wanted to be close, but he smiles at Sebastian's teasing. “You're in five minutes and already the place is a mess. Look where you left your bag.”

Sebastian follows Jim's gaze then rolls his eyes. “I was excited to see you, alright?”

“You know what I look like,” Jim sneers.

Sebastian swats him. “You could at least pretend to be nice to me when you haven't seen me in forever.”

“It was five days, Seb, relax,” Jim snorts.

Sebastian wraps his arms around Jim's frame. “Oh, 'it was five days, _Seb_ , relax _Seb_.'”

Jim wrinkles his nose. “What? That's your name.”

Sebastian smirks teasingly. “Oh, okay Jaaaamessss.”

Jim quirks one eyebrow disparagingly. “Did they not feed you over there? You're being weird.”

“I'm weird now?” Sebastian sighs.

Jim snorts in amusement and isn't sure why. “You're an idiot.”

Sebastian presses his face close to Jim's own and responds smugly, “Well you're the one stuck with _this_ idiot so I guess that makes you an idiot too.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “You need food. And sleep.”

“And a kiss,” Sebastian agrees.

Jim tilts his face up obediently, parting his lips.

Sebastian's own crash down quickly, his tongue roving over Jim's, and then the blond frowns.

Pulls away.

“You've been smoking,” Sebastian states.

Jim rolls his eyes. “Want me to go brush my teeth?”

Sebastian grabs his arm before the teen can dart off. “No... It's bad for your wounds. You know that, right? It slows your healing. You told the hospital you didn't smoke.” 

Jim looks away slowly as though Sebastian's scolding is a conniption of little import, although really it's not. “It wasn't even the full packet,” he mutters.

“Jim,” Sebastian repeats firmly. He uses that look that suggests he finds Jim's behaviour super bratty.

Jim rankles a little at the effrontery, because he is a fucking grown man, and ponders whether to eschew the confrontation, or excoriate the blonde at length. He is glad that Sebastian is back, but he doesn't need a babysitter.

Sebastian gives Jim another look. A different one. “I care.” 

Jim swallows and surprises himself by admitting, “I know.” He frowns then bravely reaches out in expiation. The brunet is relieved when Sebastian kisses him all teeth and tongue as though the tobacco taste of Jim's mouth is already forgiven. 

Sebastian's phone buzzes. The food.

He pulls Jim into another fond kiss then hops downstairs to retrieve their dinner.

Jim watches Sebastian's back disappear. Chewing his lip, Jim searches out his medication boxes from his pockets and counts out how many days he's missed. Pulls out a fresh tray of each so Sebastian doesn't notice.

The brunet doesn't want a scolding for that misbehaviour too.

Sebastian returns with a smile and the food, whistling something ridiculous. Jim cannot help but smile, and reaches for dry cutlery from the draining rack.

Sebastian divides up the food and carries it over. Jim sits further from their usual spot than normal, looking a bit weary, and Sebastian feels his insides tighten a bit.

But it isn't long before Jim is sidling over, stealing battered items from Sebastian's plate.

“I gave you your own,” Sebastian protests, not minding in the slightest.

Jim spears a chicken roll with a dark little smirk. “Tastes better when it's stolen.” He pops it into his mouth.

“Does it, now?” Sebastian responds. He pinches a money parcel from Jim's plate and pops it past his pink lips.

Jim makes a horrified noise and swats Sebastian's arm. “You're not supposed to steal _my_ food!”

Sebastian makes an obvious act of chewing. “Fair's fair,” he announces after a moment.

“That's not how this relationship works,” Jim sniffs. He pettily snatches something else from Sebastian's plate.

“You don't even like those,” Sebastian protests.

“But you do,” Jim huffs.

Sebastian rolls his eyes and kisses Jim's cheekbone. “My spoiled brat.” He looks down at his plate, playing idly with his food, then smiles. “So how does our relationship work then?”

Jim immediately stiffens. He blinks owlishly. “I didn't-”

Sebastian gives a wolfish grin. “We both heard you say it, Arty.”

Jim shoots him a sulky look. “I obviously didn't mean-”

“Shh, don't spoil it,” Sebastian smirks.

Jim growls softly and snatches away Sebastian's plate, pushing it onto the table. Sebastian quirks his eyebrows questioningly.

“You don't get to eat if you tease me,” Jim scolds.

Sebastian grins crookedly. “But I always tease you. And you tease me. It may well be the foundation of our _relationship_.”

Jim narrows his eyes. “I hate you.”

Sebastian leans forward for a brief kiss and is not pushed away. “You clearly don't.”

Jim grumbles and returns to his food.

“I missed you,” Sebastian says warmly, reaching for the brunet's food.

Jim smacks his hand away. Sebastian rolls his eyes and pins Jim under his arm so he can eat from Jim's plate.

Jim glares, but stabs a piece of chicken with his fork and offers it to Sebastian. The blond blinks. Slides it gingerly off of the utensil with his mouth.

Jim says nothing, taking a mouthful of his own, then offering another to Sebastian.

Sebastian has no desire to be poked in the eye by the business end of a greasy fork, so he wisely withholds from teasing about this unexpected intimacy.

Eventually they finish the Chinese food and Jim pulls away to reach for the tablets.

Sebastian glances at the packs then frowns. Does some mental calculations. “Are you sure that's right?”

Jim freezes. A slight heat crawls up his throat. He hadn't really expected to be so easily caught out. “Um...”

There's so much guilt in that little comment that Sebastian crosses his arms. “What have you done now?”

Jim squirms. “Nothing...”

Sebastian narrows his eyes and puts out his palm. “The rest of your tablets, please.”

Jim's eyes flash as though he might argue, but he obediently puts his hand in his unzipped pocket and pulls out the two boxes.

Sebastian takes them quietly and counts out the remaining pills. “This isn't right.”

Jim swallows.

Sebastian makes a frustrated noise. “Antibiotics don't work properly if you have a gap. Especially for days, Jim.”

Jim folds his arms over himself. Looks away.

Sebastian inhales deeply. “What about your painkillers? Have you suddenly stopped hurting?”

Jim shakes his head softly. “I did take them today,” he says meekly.

Sebastian sighs. “You're not going to feel better if you don't take your medicine.”

“I'm not stupid,” Jim mumbles.

“So why didn't you do it?” Sebastian presses.

Jim shrugs. “Didn't see the point.”

Sebastian fixes him with a look. “You were in pain and didn't see the point of taking your painkillers?”

Jim is quiet.

Sebastian purses his lips. “I'm a bit cross with you right now.”

Jim looks up. His expression is muted but he makes his eyes flash like he's provoked. “It's not your job to look after me.”

Sebastian looks at the ceiling for a moment. Hisses through his teeth. Calms himself. Looks back at Jim. “You're right, that's your job, and you evidently haven't been doing it.”

“What's it to you?” Jim grumbles.

“You'd have damn well taken your medicine if I'd been here,” Sebastian retorts.

“So what?” Jim sighs.

Sebastian shakes his head. “Next time I have to work away for days you're going to have to come with me. Stare at the walls of a boring hotel room whilst I'm busy.”

Jim blinks stupidly. “What?”

“Well you obviously can't be trusted, can you?”

Jim's face twists. “I _stayed_. What more do you want?”

“Clearly for you not to do yourself harm,” Sebastian snaps. “These aren't sugar pills; you were prescribed them because you actually need them.”

“I don't need anything!” Jim retorts.

Sebastian gives him a cool look. “You're being a child.”

Jim slides off of the couch. “Isn't that what you like?” he mutters. “Useless Jim, needs everything done for him?”

Sebastian gives a soft sigh. “I didn't say you were useless. I said I was upset that you were suffering when you had no reason to.”

“Didn't I?” Jim asks sharply.

Sebastian blinks slowly. “What do you mean?”

Jim shakes his head angrily.

Sebastian stands up slowly. “Take your meds and then we'll talk, okay?”

Jim frowns, clenching his small fists. “I don't want to _talk_ Sebastian!”

Sebastian nods and pulls Jim's wiry frame close to his chest. “What do you want then?”

Jim tries to push away, but Sebastian holds firm. “Quit it,” the brunet mutters.

“No,” Sebastian says simply.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Jim growls.

“Jim,” Sebastian says softly.

“What?” the brunet snaps.

“ _Jim_ ,” Sebastian repeats.

Jim sighs. “What?” he whines softly.

Sebastian kisses Jim's forehead softly. “Stop stressing. I'm here. I'm home.”

“I didn't miss you,” Jim spits.

“Fine,” Sebastian responds mildly. “But take your pills.”

“I don't want them,” Jim grumbles.

“Fine, but take them anyway. They're good for you,” Sebastian replies.

Jim gives an agitated sigh. “Why do you care?”

Sebastian gives a soft, uncomfortable laugh. “You don't really want that conversation. Just take your medicine please.”

“I'm still grumpy when I take it,” Jim mumbles.

“I know, but at least you're not in _pain_ ,” Sebastian responds. “It helps you to heal.”

“Fine,” Jim breathes. He holds out his hand for the strips, avoiding the blond's gaze.

“Thank you,” Sebastian says genuinely, planting a kiss on Jim's forehead and pressing the medicine into his outstretched palm.

Jim ducks away to reach for his glass and places the first tablet on his tongue. Takes a drink, his eyes diverted from Sebastian's gaze.

Sebastian takes the blister packs gently and pops out each of the remaining dose, handing them over one by one without a word. Jim feels his cheeks heat a little bit.

His fingers tingle as Sebastian brushes against them.

Jim swallows the last pill for now. He places his glass slowly down on the table.

He takes a deep breath and reluctantly looks up at the blond. “I-”

Jim cannot get the words out, but there is a compassionate arm on his shoulder, stroking down his upper arm comfortingly.

“I know,” Sebastian answers reassuringly.

Jim presses his forehead against Sebastian's neck. “Take me?” he mutters.

Sebastian blinks in surprise, but nods against Jim's warm skull. “Alright, but upstairs. I won't have the energy to move after.”

“If you're too tired-”

Sebastian presses his forehead against Jim's own. “I am never to tired to take care of your needs,” he growls softly.

Jim grins a little. “Okay.”

Sebastian swings Jim over his shoulder, just to prove he's _not too tired_ and asks, “This okay? Doesn't hurt your cuts too much?”

Jim stretches down uncomfortably to slap Sebastian's rump. “Take me upstairs. Now.”

Sebastian grins and obeys, throwing Jim down on their bed. Before Jim can say a word, Sebastian pins him down and kisses a fierce line from Jim's skull to chest. Jim arches into the contact.

Sebastian leans up on his thighs and tugs at his tie, yanking it off. He leans back down quickly.

“I'm going to punish you for your malfeasance,” Sebastian murmurs, taking Jim's arms and holding them out of the way, “whilst I show you how _fucking_ much I missed you.” 

Jim supposes the unfamiliar word means naughtiness, and that seems to be correct, because in a moment Sebastian has his tie around Jim's wrists and is purring, “You couldn't keep your hands off of the fags, so you don't get to touch this one.” 

Jim seems to find the game meritorious, because he plays along with rapt attention as Sebastian strips him and places a trail of kisses over every piece of Jim's skin. Soon Jim is squirming, sweating, trying to angle his groin towards Sebastian's lips.

“Noooo, you've been a bad boy, remember?” Sebastian whispers against Jim's hip.

Jim makes a strangled, huffy noise. “I want it _now_ Seb.”

“Tough, you're just going to have to be patient,” Sebastian teases. He nips the underside of Jim's bucking thigh with his teeth.

Jim yelps softly. “But, Sebaaaaastiannn...”

Sebastian sucks the tender skin lightly. “Yes, pet?”

Jim huffs, but doesn't dare complain, because he wants Sebastian's mouth _now_ damn it.

Sebastian makes an impatient purr and lifts Jim's calf out of the way, sucking on the sensitive skin behind Jim's knee.

Jim whimpers. “ _Please,_ Sebastian.”

The blond sits up for a second and gives him an amused look. “Who knew you could beg so prettily?” 

Jim glares a little. “I'm not- Okay, okay, okay, I'm begging, I'm begging, I'm begging!”

Sebastian grins around Jim's skin. “You're such an _impatient_ brat.”

“I have been patient,” Jim whines. “You haven't touched me in _days_.”

Sebastian gives him a fond, sympathetic smile. “That's been hard on you, has it?”

Jim huffs, wanting to retort sharply but not wanting to risk prolonging the wait to have the heat of Sebastian's mouth on his needy cock.

“Ji-im I asked you a question,” Sebastian teases, nipping the brunet's pale skin.

Jim squirms. Huffs. “Sebastian...”

Sebastian feigns an innocent look. “What, sweetie?”

Jim struggles not to kick, and groans in frustration. “I want you _now_ Sebastian.”

Sebastian merely smirks. “That's not asking nicely.” He spanks Jim hard enough to pull out a yelp. “Such a _spoiled_ little thing.”

Jim lies flat on his back and growls. “Sebastian, I am giving you to the count of ten to get your mouth on my cock or we are going to have problems.”

Sebastian laughs outright. “Is this really that upsetting?”

“One,” Jim snarls.

Sebastian snickers and pulls up to suck on Jim's nipple.

Jim hisses, rips his wrists from the loosened tie, and tries to push the scalp lower. “Two!”

Sebastian grins and nips Jim's fingers. “Three,” he adds helpfully.

Jim makes a cross noise. “That's not-”

Sebastian laughs again and kisses Jim's damp throat. “Okay fine, anything for you. _Ten_.”

And Jim is suddenly encased in hot, hot heat and if Sebastian keeps doing that thing with his tongue Jim's going to come in seconds.

Sebastian chortles at the way Jim's hips buck desperately and teasingly pulls away.

Jim screams. “Sebastian!”

Sebastian laps Jim's balls playfully. “No need to shout, love. I'm right here.”

Jim knots his fingers in Sebastian's hair and drags the bigger blond upwards. “I'd love you a lot more if you were _here_ ,” Jim pants.

Sebastian smirks, although his scalp is starting to hurt. “Since you asked so nicely, pet,” and he swallows Jim deep.

Jim keens, bucking his hips desperately.

Sebastian grins and sucks obediently, not surprised when Jim almost yanks out a chunk of blond hair and thrusts hard enough to choke Sebastian.

Sebastian pins down Jim's snapping hips and bobs his head enthusiastically, cheeks hollowed.

Jim comes hard, loudly, snatching at Sebastian's hair harshly enough to burn.

His seed is molten down the back of Sebastian's throat and Sebastian is really going to need to get them both checked out soon. He licks his lips with a smile. “Happy?”

Jim huffs, looking exhausted, his dark hair sticking up in wet spikes. “You're so mean.”

Sebastian traces his fingers lightly up and down Jim's stomach, making the smaller man shiver in pleasure. “You loved it.”

Jim sniffs. “Horrible.”

Sebastian leans down for a kiss. Hs eyes are sparkling, “Am I really?”

Jim rolls his own but reluctantly offers his lips. Accepts the kiss. “No.”

Sebastian grins and wriggles closer, closing his eyes.

“You cannot seriously be going to sleep,” Jim chides.

Sebastian gives a small smile. “I'm tired, pet.”

“Stop calling me that.”

Sebastian grins and leans up quickly to snatch another kiss. 

Jim stares at him. The blond looks exhausted.

“I-” Jim swallows the words, feeling uncomfortable at the way Sebastian suddenly looks around at him attentively. “I missed you,” Jim amends. 

Sebastian's face softens. “I know. Thanks for telling me.”

He seems happier, but there's a tiredness around his features that suggests their separation has had a deleterious effect on Sebastian's wellbeing. It is strange to see proof that Jim has indeed been missed.

Jim snuggles closer. “You can't sleep in your clothes.”

“Watch me.”

Jim smiles a little. Kisses Sebastian's neck. “Heathen.”

Sebastian curls his fingers around Jim's wrist, already half asleep. “My brat.”


	26. Warm

Sebastian is woken by Jim's indignant rebuke and pressure on his skin as the brunet fails to push Sebastian away.

“Get your arm off of me. Don't touch me,” Jim snaps. 

Sebastian sighs, sitting up and rubbing his skull where it aches from Jim's tugging last night. “Jim, I came back.”

Jim frowns and draws up his legs to push Sebastian further away. “I don't care. Go away.”

Sebastian settles his elbows on his knees and regards the brunet. Sebastian's skull is throbbing. “You do realise this posturing is pointless, right?”

Jim's eyes flash.

Sebastian is really not in the mood for this right now. He knocks Jim down before the brat can lunge at him, and draws him close. “No. Not this morning, Jim.”

Jim struggles like a wet cat.

“Jim!” Sebastian bellows.

Jim actually freezes. Gives Sebastian a wide eyed look.

“That's enough,” Sebastian warns sternly. He flops back down and pulls Jim with him.

Jim growls a little and tries to pull away.

Sebastian flicks his palm down sharply across Jim's rear, causing the brat to jerk into the mattress and hiss.

“ _Enough,_ I said,” Sebastian chides. “We are not fighting today. It's not happening.”

Jim breathes heavily, frustrated, and Sebastian allows one thin arm free to snake down to Jim's stinging rear and rub against the evident sting.

“Settle back down and go to sleep,” Sebastian orders. “I'm not getting up for another hour and you are _not_ giving me any of your tantrums today.”

“I don't have fucking tantrums,” the teen mutters petulantly.

“No? Because it's always one step forward and two steps back with you,” Sebastian retorts. “I missed you, and you missed me, and you are _not_ going to pick a fight with me today just because that makes you feel uncomfortable. Man the fuck up.”

Jim opens his mouth to retort angrily, but Sebastian presses the heel of his palm into the space.

“ _No_ James,” Sebastian warns. “Lie down, cuddle in, and fucking trust me for once.”

Jim glares from behind Sebastian's hand, but Sebastian pulls back and snuggles down.

Jim blinks. Breathes heavily.

“It's alright Jim,” Sebastian says softly.

Jim frowns and shakes his head quickly. “It's not. It's not!”

Sebastian watches the teen for a second then pulls them both up and rubs a heavy palm over Jim's thin back. “You're having a panic attack over this?” Sebastian murmurs in a soothing voice. “Come on. There's nothing to be scared of, Arty.”

“I'm not panicking!” Jim spits, but his cheeks are white and his shoulders are juddering.

Sebastian wraps his arms around Jim, grounding him against his broad chest, and presses a kiss onto Jim's forehead. “Relax. I've got your back. I promise.”

Jim sniffs. “Fuck you, Basher,” he mutters.

Sebastian brushes his stubbled cheek against Jim's own. “Maybe when you're feeling better, eh?”

Jim sort of laughs, but it's more of a juddering breath.

“You're safe,” Sebastian reminds him sincerely.

“I'm not,” Jim insists.

“How are you possibly not?” Sebastian asks.

“Because! Because...” But Jim frowns and shakes his head agitatedly. He won't let the words out.

Sebastian sighs, rubs Jim's scalp, down his slim neck, and over the thin back. “I'm right here you silly thing. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going to let anything harm you. I'm not going to harm you. You are perfectly safe, I promise.”

“Don't,” Jim mutters.

“Don't what?” Sebastian asks softly.

“Don't promise.”

Sebastian kisses the nub of bone on the back of Jim's skeletal neck. “Whatever you want. But I'm here, and you're safe.”

“I'm not a baby,” Jim grumbles.

Sebastian rubs his hand soothingly down the side of Jim's tense face. “I know you're not. Even big, tough, scary soldiers get scared sometimes.”

“I'm not scared,” Jim says darkly.

“Yes you are,” Sebastian points out reasonably. “But that's okay. It's normal to be scared sometimes. But you need to stop pushing me away when it happens. Okay?”

Jim makes a derisive noise.

“I mean it, brat. I can't take care of you properly when you push me away, can I? How'd you expect me to make it better?”

“I don't _want_ you to make it better!” Jim snaps.

“Well that's just bloody stupid,” Sebastian responds bluntly.

“I'm not stupid.”

Sebastian kisses Jim's stiff neck. “Listen properly. I didn't call you stupid.”

Jim squirms. “Sebastian, stop.”

“Why?”

“Because you're stressing me out.”

“Explain.”

Jim makes a frustrated noise in his throat and pulls away, only to turn around and force his forehead against Sebastian's chest.

Sebastian falls back a little and wraps his arms around Jim reactively. “Hey. It's okay.”

“I'm not mental,” Jim mutters.

Sebastian runs a hand up the back of Jim's hair. It's damp with sweat. He kisses Jim's scalp and replies, “I wouldn't mind if you were.”

“I'm hard work,” Jim spits.

Sebastian laughs softly. “Yes. Yes you bloody are. But that's okay.”

Jim bites his lip. Can't quite bring himself to look up at Sebastian's face. “Why are you..?”

“What? Patient with you? Why wouldn't I be?”

Jim makes a distressed sort of growl in his throat.

Sebastian tilts up his chin. “You are absolutely worth the work, Sasslips.”

Jim looks away but the corners of his lips twitch in the ghost of a smile.

“Right,” Sebastian says. “Enough chatter. Lie back down and get a quick nap before breakfast. I'll snuggle you.”

“I'm not tired,” Jim lies.

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “Neither am I, now, thanks to a certain someone,” he responds dryly. “But I told you that we're not getting out of bed for an hour so that's what's happening.”

“I don't need stability,” Jim murmurs, as though he suspects Sebastian's motivation.

“Did I ask for your opinion?” Sebastian drawls playfully. He kisses Jim under the jaw and pulls the boy down onto the mattress.

Jim snuggles in obediently, giving Sebastian a silent glare that warns the blond not to comment on it. Sebastian merely smirks back and kisses Jim's cheek.

They snuggle for a while then Sebastian reaches across and lights up the screen of the nearest phone. Time to get up.

Sebastian strokes Jim's forehead. “Feeling less fragile?”

Jim wrinkles his nose. “I am _not_ fragile, Basher.”

Sebastian smirks and sits up, offering Jim a hand. Jim glowers a little but takes it.

Sebastian pulls Jim into his arms and out of the bed.

“I don't need carried, Basher,” Jim grumbles.

Sebastian twists his lips. “Do you really want me to put you down?”

“Oh shut up and feed me,” Jim glowers, looking away.

Sebastian takes another kiss and carries the sulky brunet downstairs. He places him down on the breakfast bar.

“What do you want this morning?”

Jim shrugs.

“Comfort food it is then. Something warm. Eggs or porridge?”

Jim considers. “Porridge. But I don't need a fucking smiley face on it.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “Fine.” He points to his chiselled jaw. “A kiss for motivation, please.”

Jim snorts but leans forward and complies. Sebastian wraps his arms around Jim's waist. Deepens the kiss until Jim has slid his cool, pale fingers into Sebastian's blond hair.

Then Sebastian gives Jim a small squeeze and steps back to fetch the oats, milk and sugar.

Jim wipes his mouth and watches Sebastian's back as the large man treads comfortably around the kitchen space.

He narrows his eyes suspiciously as Sebastian reaches for the syrup about ten minutes later. Sebastian keeps his back to Jim as he makes a shape in the bowl with an artistic flourish.

He turns to face Jim with a smirk and carries the breakfast over.

Jim looks down at it. A grumpy face is drawn in his food.

“You want me to put this over your head?” Jim questions.

“You are not Mister Belvidere,” Sebastian drawls, kissing Jim's cheek then leaning back against the opposite counter. Reaching for his own bowl.

“I have no idea what you just referenced,” Jim says disparagingly.

Sebastian sighs, because the seven year gap is a lot sometimes, and scowls into his porridge.

Jim rolls his eyes and pokes at his food. “You're too far away. Come sit near me.”

“Are you going to throw your hot breakfast at me?” Sebastian questions.

Jim crosses his bare legs on the breakfast bar and pulls his bowl into his lap. “I could throw from here. But no, I'm not.”

Sebastian pads over and sits down on a stool. Hands Jim a dish cloth to spread over his thighs. “Here. Don't burn yourself.”

Jim rolls his eyes but takes the thing quickly enough that he must recognise its merits.

“I thought I'd take you out tonight,” Sebastian announces conversationally. “If you think you can behave yourself for a few hours.”

Jim glances at him. The tone is too light, flippant. Sebastian wants him to say yes. “What is it?”

Sebastian plays with his food. “A surprise.”

Jim narrows his eyes and watches how Sebastian tries not to let his broad shoulders slump. “Fine,” Jim responds.

Sebastian blinks. “You're sure?”

“If I hate it I'll hit you,” Jim promises darkly.

Sebastian's lips quirk. “I expect as much.”

“How should I dress?” Jim asks.

“Warm.”

Jim watches Sebastian for the rest of the day, hoping for clues, but Sebastian is unusually closed lipped.

As they get ready to leave Sebastian wraps a scarf around Jim's neck.

“It's not that cold outside,” Jim comments, bewildered by the intimacy of wearing something that smells strongly of Sebastian.

“It'll be colder where we're going,” Sebastian explains.

Jim gives him a curious look.

Sebastian wraps his arm around Jim comfortably as he leads them through the chilly streets that evening. Jim gives him a dubious look as he notes the lurid signs for Hyde Park's gaudy Winter Wonderland.

“First night,” Sebastian states, as though that is any kind of reasonable explanation.

“It's November.” 

“It's winter,” Sebastian sing songs in response.

Jim rolls his eyes but does not pull away as Sebastian leads them into a queue of Londoners and tourists bundled up in layers.

“The whole place smells like mulled wine,” Jim grumbles, wrinkling his nose.

Sebastian rubs his gloved thumb over it, surprised at how Jim stares at the intimacy. “What?”

Jim makes a disgruntled noise and looks away. It is not difficult to pretend to be distracted.

Jim is agog as he takes in his surroundings. They are a melange of colours, lights, and noises. It's the sort of great beano he would ordinarily avoid unless gripped by a need to pickpocket. Sebastian ambles through the crowd, a protective arm around Jim's shoulder. Jim is surprised to find himself not hating the convivial atmosphere.

Sebastian gives Jim a look, as though the brunet is the cynosure of everything.

“Do you want a drink?” Sebastian asks.

“Alcoholic,” Jim grumbles, not in the humour to let Sebastian ply him with some ridiculous, frothy hot chocolate.

“Obviously,” Sebastian responds, guiding Jim through the throng of cold, happy people.

Jim steps into the bar and stares at the incredibly tacky, fur-lined cloak pushed into his gloved hands. “You must be joking.”

Sebastian is already sliding his own over his shoulders. “Trust me, you're going to want to put that on.”

Jim gives him a suffering look but allows Sebastian to wrap the cheap Bar Ice cloak around him. 

He feels stupid, but the longer they stay in the bar the more Jim is reluctantly glad of the ridiculous item. His breath comes in clouds.

Sebastian slings his arm back around Jim's shoulders and orders two whiskies. Jim can see other teenagers getting ID'd, but the bartender doesn't even meet Sebastian's sparkling eyes.

Sebastian hands Jim his glass and finds them somewhere to sit.

Jim stares at the walls. “This is ridiculous.”

“You don't seem to mind,” Sebastian says comfortably, sipping his drink. His cheeks and nose are pink with cold.

Jim relishes the burn as the whiskey slides down his throat, heating his chest. He reaches around and brushes his fingers over the ice bricks which make up the bar.

“Your gloves will get wet,” Sebastian states.

Jim shrugs. Smiles a little. “You'll loan me yours.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, knowing that to be true.

They stay for a few drinks, enjoying the excuse to sit closely together in public without being obviously 'out.'

“Ice skating or the Ice Kingdom?” Sebastian asks lazily.

Jim makes a face. “The Ice Kingdom sounds ridiculous. What is it?”

Sebastian smiles over the rim of his glass. “Ice Kingdom it is. I'll show you.”

Jim makes an exasperated noise but isn't remotely frustrated. He is content, his chest warm and Sebastian held close.

Sebastian leads him to the Kingdom and smirks silently as Jim's eyes widen. The short brunet wanders ahead a little, staring at his surroundings.

“Pretty, isn't it?” Sebastian smiles.

Jim nods reluctantly, circling around.

Sebastian glances around, takes them to a quiet corner, and steals a quick kiss. Jim smiles. They linger near illuminated ice statures of polar bears, just looking at each other comfortably.

“Having a good time?” Sebastian asks.

Jim pouts. “Surprisingly,” he admits.

Sebastian smiles. Adjusts Jim's scarf a little to keep him warmer. “Are you getting cold?”

Jim shakes his head. “Only a little.”

Sebastian slides his hand to the small of Jim's back and leads them out, towards the Fire Pit.

Jim blinks at the smell and the heat, leading Sebastian closer to the fire. “Yes,” he murmurs.

Sebastian smiles and gets them some marshmallows. Something of an iconoclast, Jim did not tend to do things like this. But standing close to Sebastian like this in the glow of the fire… it's nice. He accepts the treat and toasts it carefully, watching Sebastian.

“Happy?” Sebastian asks softly.

Jim nods. Turns to watch the fire. Leans into Sebastian's chest.

Sebastian curls his arm around. “Time I fed you?”

Jim wouldn't mind lingering for a bit, but he nods. They walk back through the place slowly, comfortably.

Jim glances curiously at the loud noises and flashing lights alerting them to the presence of more attractions.

Sebastian smiles. Sneaks his lips under Jim's scarf to his neck. Purrs, “If you're a good boy I'll take you to the carnival tomorrow. It needs a full day to enjoy it.” 

Jim smirks. Leans into Sebastian. “What if I'm a bad boy?” 

Sebastian chuckles richly. “Then I'll still take you to the carnival, but you'll find it uncomfortable to sit on the rides.”

Jim reaches up and kisses him. Right there in the park.


	27. Carnival

Sebastian wakes before Jim and waits for another outburst. Another rejection that tells Sebastian both that Jim is attached to him, and that the attachment frightens the brunet deeply for some unknown reason.

Sebastian is surprised when Jim wakes and, instead of pulling away or stropping, buries closer into Sebastian's body heat like a little kitten.

The blond rubs Jim's hair. It's getting longer, more fluff than scruff now. “Are you alright?”

“Shh,” Jim grumbles.

Sebastian continues to stroke Jim's head fondly. “You're being very snuggly this morning.”

“Don't spoil it,” Jim responds, lolling his head against Sebastian's chest with his bewitching eyes still closed.

Sebastian swirls his fingertip delicately along the rippled scar tissue on the back of Jim's warm skull. “Ah. No acknowledging what a cute little limpet you are?”

Jim sighs but doesn't sound very anything other than content still. “Seb, don't make me cut your tongue out just so I can sleep.”

“You're not sleeping,” Sebastian responds with an amused warmth to his tone.

“I _might_ be if my pillow would stop making inane conversation at this ungodly hour,” Jim states lazily.

“Oh I'm your pillow, of course, silly me,” Sebastian teases.

Jim makes a sleepy, sulky little noise and opens his eyes. Leans up, using a sharp little elbow for leverage, and presses his mouth against Sebastian's own. Spreads his burning little tongue over Sebastian's lips and then past them.

He pulls away without looking at Sebastian's surprised expression. Closes his eyes and snuggles close. “No talking, Sebastian.”

Sebastian chuffs a soft amused noise through his nose and slides down. Holds Jim to his chest affectionately.

They stay curled up together for long enough that Sebastian falls back asleep. He wakes to Jim nudging him gently. “What is it, pet?”

Jim wrinkles his nose, but doesn't complain. “When's the carnival open?” he asks.

Sebastian brushes Jim's fresh, soft face with his hand. “Ten.”

“Should we get up?” Jim asks mildly.

“It's open for twelve hours a day. You can sleep as long as you like,” Sebastian tells him.

Jim considers, his dark eyes shining. “But it'll be quieter when it's early?”

“Less queues,” Sebastian agrees.

Jim nods. “Let's get up.”

“Pancakes this morning for my sweet brat?” Sebastian suggests.

Jim pouts. “Sweet?”

Sebastian squeezes his arms pointedly. Jim's belly is flat on Sebastian's chest. As much skin contact as possible.

“I was just cold,” Jim grumbles.

“No fibs, James Moriarty,” Sebastian teases softly.

Jim rolls his eyes, but takes his sweet time rolling off of Sebastian's chest and stepping out of bed.

Sebastian follows, cupping Jim's rear to prompt the brunet to turn around. Plants a kiss on his open lips when he does.

Jim smiles into the contact. “Pancakes first, Tiger,” he murmurs.

Sebastian smiles, dipping to swoop one arm under the bend of Jim's knees and the other stabilising the brunet's back. He carries Jim easily downstairs.

“I can walk,” Jim comments, not sounding at all annoyed.

“You'll get plenty of exercise walking around the park,” Sebastian declares. He sets Jim down on the breakfast bar and steps away.

Jim reaches out and softly grips Sebastian's hair, persuading him back for a kiss.

“I like it when you're clingy,” Sebastian murmurs, eventually retreating to create their pancakes.

“I'm not clingy!” Jim grumbles, a sliver of annoyance tinging his voice.

“Affectionate, then,” Sebastian shrugs, making the pancakes into crude, childish shapes just for fun. Stars and Mickey Mouse ears and the like. The blond knows it's perilous to his health to make a teasing heart.

Jim slides down the counter top and pads over to Sebastian. Waits until the blond has stepped away from the burning stove for a cuddle. Then smacks Sebastian's slightly more muscular rear sharply enough to make Sebastian gasp.

“Don't get cocky, Seb,” Jim scolds.

Sebastian gives a small, wry laugh and rubs at his smarting cheek. “Yes, Boss.”

Jim tilts his chin in acknowledgement then reaches for one of the smallest pancakes, the first to be ready. He holds it as if unaware of how it burns his cool fingers and takes a dainty bite.

“Does it please Sir?” Sebastian mocks.

Jim rolls his eyes and pats Sebastian's sore bottom pointedly. “It's adequate.”

Sebastian tries not to think too much about how he enjoys being manhandled by the little brat and instead returns to the cooking pan.

Piles Jim's on a plate and carries them over with the bottle of syrup he uses for Jim's porridge.

Jim breaks the food up in his hands and wipes it in a pool of syrup, sitting cross-legged and naked on the bar.

Sebastian makes himself some quick, vaguely circular pancakes, switches off the heat, and settles down on a stool next to Jim.

The brunet stares critically at Sebastian's less imaginative breakfast and wordlessly switches some of his shapes with the ovals.

Sebastian knows not to make a comment, but purses his lips fondly.

Jim picks up the bottle and writes out a curse word on Sebastian's breakfast in tight cursive.

Sebastian laughs. Feels his heart swell at the happy look Jim shares with him.

The good mood lasts, and Jim joins Sebastian in the shower for what turns into mutual blow jobs and a lot of lazing around in a steamy bathroom.

It's gone eleven by the time Jim pulls on Sebastian's old jeans and a teeshirt. Sebastian bundles the teen into a jumper and slightly too large jacket, mentally noting to take Jim to buy something better fitting later. It's only going to get colder in the coming months.

Jim's expression is uncharacteristically soft as Sebastian pulls stretchy, wool gloves onto his smaller hands and wraps yesterday's scarf around Jim's throat with care. The brunet is unused to being looked after, much less coddled, and the squirmy feeling in his gut is accompanied by a warm glow in his chest.

Sebastian shoves on his own gloves and leads Jim down to the park. Jim is quiet in some sort of contentment. It's not the carnival so much that cheers him, as it is the company. Sebastian is good natured and warm. It makes anything enjoyable.

Sebastian leads Jim through a throng of equally bescarfed people, brimming with alacrity.

They pass some of those 'hit something win a prize' type stalls, and Sebastian gives Jim a smug look. Jim remembers the scope tattoo on the blond's thick arm. He's probably good at these sort of things.

“Are you going to let me win you something?” Sebastian purrs.

Jim rolls his eyes. “I'm not a girl, Sebastian.”

Sebastian bows his head close. He whispers, “If you were I don't think I'd have been gagging on your rock hard cock earlier, do you?”

Jim presses his lips into a thin line. They twist up a little at the corners. “You're such a dick, Basher.”

“You _like_ my dick,” Sebastian murmurs, and he pulls Jim towards the stall.

Jim rolls his eyes and stands with his arms crossed, his lips betraying his amusement.

Sebastian wins on his first attempt and gives Jim a mildly proud look. “What toy do you want?” he smirks.

Jim sighs at the smug idiot. “I don't-”

“The biggest, most ridiculous one then?” Sebastian teases.

Jim punches his arm. “Don't you dare.”

Sebastian merely grins and turns to the person on the stall. Motions her forwards to whisper (loud over the sound of their surroundings, but not so loud that Jim can hear) and she smiles as though she can tell that Sebastian and Jim aren't just friends.

She reaches for a toy a little higher than Jim can see from where he's standing, and Sebastian accepts a bundle of dark grey fluff with a smirk.

“Reminds me of you,” the blond teases, holding the floppy plush out so that Jim can see its shape.

Jim's cheeks actually colour.

“You're an arsehole,” he mutters. “I'm not carrying that about.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, seeming deeply amused. He tucks the soft kitten into the neckline of his clothing, where it seems to sit contentedly. “I'll keep him close then,” Sebastian says.

Jim shakes his head. “A cat?”

“A spitting little alley kitten who thinks his feral teeth and claws detract from his being a cute ball of fluff,” Sebastian murmurs in the brunet's pink ear.

“You're going to feel my claws when we get home,” Jim grumbles.

Sebastian glances up at their surroundings then bows his head again to give Jim's cheekbone a swift, fond kiss. “Looking forwards to it, Sasslips.”

They spend most of the day messing around in the carnival, Jim relaxing enough to even goof about a little with the stuffed toy.

The lights switch on as it darkens in the afternoon and Sebastian leads them to the Carousel Bar for the lark.

Jim eyes his surroundings dubiously, knowing he would never have came here himself had Sebastian not been so persuasive. Persuasive by merely leading, and Jim following because the blond makes him feel at ease.

Sebastian's lips twitch playfully at Jim's skeptical expression.

“Would you rather see the singing moose at the House of St Nicholas?” Sebastian asks with faux innocence. 

Jim slaps the blond's shoulder without restraint, his stomach fluttering with the way Sebastian's resultant burst of laughter makes Jim not irritated but pleased.

Sebastian tucks the kitten into Jim's hood playfully and the brunet makes no action to remove it.


	28. Webley Vs. Twink

Jim considers himself to be very tolerant of Sebastian goofing around with the cat toy, but the moment Sebastian tries to carry 'Tibbles' up to the bedroom Jim draws the line. Cuffing the blond, Jim sends Sebastian upstairs and stashes the stuffed kitten in the back of a cupboard.

Naturally, when Sebastian is frowning and hunting through the furniture later, Jim assumes Sebastian is looking for the toy.

“You're not getting him back yet,” Jim declares, crossing his arms sternly. The blond is insufferable in his childish teasing.

Sebastian looks up for a second. “What? Who?”

“Tibbs.”

“Oh. That's not what I'm looking for,” Sebastian responds distractedly, and crawls back into a cupboard.

Jim is partly intrigued and exasperated, but mostly he's distracted by the sight of Sebastian on his knees, swaying as though he's feeling along the _top_ of the space.

Jim stares at Sebastian's wriggling arse for a while, then asks, “What _are_ you looking for?”

“My fucking...” Sebastian backs out of the cupboard and slaps the door crossly. “I must have left it at home. I'm a fucking idiot.”

Jim's posture shifts slowly. “This is home.”

“What?” Sebastian looks up and then closes his eyes as though annoyed at himself. “Well yeah, now. I mean… Home before here.”

Sebastian gives his surroundings a look that makes Jim frown and blurt, “Are you alright?”

Sebastian rubs his large hand over his face. “Sorry. Yeah, I'm just… It's not like me to lose anything.”

“What are you looking for?” Jim asks.

Sebastian presses his lips together for a moment, wondering whether to reply, which isn't an expression Jim has seen much of. It makes him nervous.

“...My Webley,” Sebastian admits, seeming truthful.

Jim bares his teeth a little. “What's a Webley?” he asks wryly.

Sebastian blinks. “Oh… A gun. A handgun. Not like the ones you've held, this one is old-fashioned looking, a revolver with a safety, it's… special. The ammunition is like fucking gold dust yet I can find that, but the gun? The gun has fucking vanished. _I don't lose things_. Especially not...”

As Sebastian breaks off in frustration, Jim steps closer. “I'll help you look for it.”

Sebastian bites his lip. “If I'm just being stupid, there's one place left it might be. But… I don't think it's going to be there.”

Jim nods. “Get dressed. We'll go check.”

Sebastian nods slowly. “Jim, it's… it's not a nice place...”

“So I'll fit right in,” Jim replies firmly.

Sebastian chews his lip. Looks skywards, rubbing the back of his head. Then gives a small smile. “Alright. But… Be cool about it, alright?”

Jim raises his brows. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Sebastian rubs his brow. “Where I'm taking you… is a lot more… _me_ than this place. And you might not like… Well it's probably about time you knew what you were sleeping with.”

Jim juts out his chin defiantly. “I know who I'm sleeping with Sebastian. You're the sort of man who takes in a half-dead whore and all his problems. The guy who has a pistol pointed at his head and shows me how to use it properly. The guy who's been driving me half demented with a stuffed animal. I know the important points.”

Sebastian brushes his gaze slowly over Jim. It's considering, wary and fond. “Well, remember that, will you?”

“Jesus, Sebastian, stop being so melodramatic. I'm going to go shower; join me if you like.”

Sebastian watches Jim retreat, then gets up and quickly follows. Pressing his lips into Jim's neck under the warm spray of water.

Jim smiles, turning around and curling his arms around Sebastian. The blond kisses a path down Jim's body, causing the shorter man to groan and push his hand into Sebastian's hair.

Sebastian takes Jim in his mouth, hoping he can put the younger man in a good enough humour that Jim won't leave the moment Sebastian exposes his secrets.

Jim accepts the attention and presses an arm against the wet tiles as he fills the back of Sebastian's throat. Then he kneels down to face the blond.

“I know exactly what you're doing, Seb,” Jim announces, tapping Sebastian's flushed cheek. “I'd prefer that you didn't worry so much, but I can't complain about how you channel it.”

Sebastian laughs ruefully, his shoulders shaking beneath the water.

Jim gives him a kiss then steps out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his hips as he brushes his teeth.

Sebastian switches off the spray and follows, pressing more kisses into Jim's thin shoulder.

“You're so _needy_ , Sebastian,” Jim teases.

Sebastian slows but does not pull away. “You want me to stop?”

“No, but you seemed rather upset about your _Webley_. Let's go find it, and then we can come back to bed to celebrate.”

Sebastian makes a dissatisfied noise in his throat. “I'm not convinced you're going to be in the mood to put out after you see this side of me...”

Jim sighs and reaches around to swat Sebastian. “I'll be the judge of that, won't I? Stop dragging your feet, you girl.”

Sebastian gives a small growl in his throat, trying to cover up his agitation, and tugs away Jim's towel, using it to dry himself. Jim chuckles, turning his back to the sink and admiring Sebastian's form.

Sebastian catches the heat in Jim's gaze. “We don't have time for that right now, you said,” Sebastian teases, dumping the towel and striding through to their bedroom.

Jim chuckles, dipping to pick up the towel. He puts it back on the rail and follows, calling, “You haven't brushed your teeth, you heathen.”

Sebastian laughs. “Does it matter? I taste of you!”

“Oh, aren't you every girl's dream?” Jim snorts, dropping onto the bed.

Sebastian straightens and gestures at himself, from the chiselled jaw, to the sculpted chest, to the considerable endowment. “Kind of am, yeah.”

Jim giggles delightedly. “I imagine girls aren't too impressed by how much you like it in the arse, Seb.”

“There are plenty of women who would _love_ to peg my delicious arse,” Sebastian scoffs, bending unnecessarily to retrieve his clothes.

Jim snorts. “Blatant fag.”

Sebastian drops down on top of Jim, balancing his weight on his elbows. “Should I be offended at the attacks on my masculinity coming from the naked twink in my bed?”

Jim splutters out an appalled noise and gasps, “Call me that again and you're fucking _dead_ , Basher!”

Sebastian laughs unkindly, sitting up and playfully snatching Jim's skinny wrists in one hand so that he can glide teasing, tickling fingers down Jim's immediately wriggling torso.

“What, does my twinky little boyfriend not like hearing how pretty he is?” Sebastian drawls jokingly.

Jim freezes, the screwed up expression on his face from the tickling dropping into utter shock.

Sebastian looks down at Jim in panic as the brunet stops responding, and quickly tries to recollect what he said to prompt such a reaction.

Oh _fuck!_ That just slipped out…

“Jim?” Sebastian questions nervously.

“Hmm?”

“Should I go cut my tongue out, or would you prefer to do it?”

Jim chuckles softly.

Relief floods through Sebastian's chest.

“Get off of me, moron,” Jim orders. 

Sebastian complies swiftly, feeling nervous and stupid.

“Now, moving swiftly on, what do I need to wear?” Jim queries.

Sebastian blinks. “Trackies or jeans.”

Jim nods and rolls off of the bed to get dressed. Sebastian watches feeling utterly dimwitted.

Jim glances sidelong at him. “Take that self-pitying look off of your face please.”

A slow smiles creeps across across Sebastian's face. “Yes, boss.”

Jim gives a brief nod of approval. 'Boss' is evidently much better than 'twink' and far more comfortable than _'boyfriend.'_

Sebastian runs his gaze over Jim. That tracksuit is the teen's go-to outfit, but the sight of him wearing it never fails to inspire Sebastian to want to take it off.

Jim seems to notice. His lips quirk at the corners. “You recover fast, don't you? Get dressed, you great lump, so we can find your gun.”

Sebastian obeys, but feels a rush of foreboding about taking Jim to the scabby neighbourhood necessary.

Jim notes Sebastian's wariness as they venture into a much poorer area. It doesn't so much show in Sebastian's posture, but in the tight line of his lips.

Sebastian leads Jim to a grotty little tenement and takes a deep breath before allowing access into a run down flat.

There's a smell of damp, but also a smell of life, which the apartment in Conduit Street is only just developing. Sebastian steps around a farrago of ugly furniture as though he could do so with his eyes closed. (He has done, many times.)

Despite his nervousness, Sebastian is instantly more at home in the grimy flat and Jim realises its spartan nature is not antithetical to Sebastian's tastes. Jim is vividly reminded of the stubborn way Sebastian refuses to make use of his coasters. The Conduit Street apartment is decorated to someone else's sybaritic tastes (not Sebastian's) but Jim had been so conscious of Sebastian's easy way with money that he had not immediately noticed. 

The desuetude of the apartment is suddenly apparent in start contrast to this eerie yet very lived in flat.

“This is your place,” Jim surmises.

Sebastian flicks his gaze up edgily. “Yes.”

“You're… dirty,” Jim comments, sounding amused.

Sebastian glances around, regretting not tidying up a bit any of the number of times he was last here. “I'm a slob,” he agrees.

“Will I need a tetanus jab if I sit down on your couch?” Jim asks.

Sebastian smiles, recognising the teasing as fond. “Probably.”

“So I won't get you to make me a cup of tea before we hunt through this hovel then?”

Sebastian snorts. “I don't think I can poison you with tea, Jim. I might even still have in date milk in the fridge.”

The brunet gives him a surprised look and follows Sebastian to the kitchen space.

The blond kneels and reaches into the undercounter fridge. “I clean up here after work.”

Jim gives him an amused, slighty scathing look. “You come here to get _clean_?”

“Har har,” Sebastian mumbles, opening the milk and sniffing it. He looks pleased by the outcome.

“Didn't expect that to work?” Jim asks, lips curled in amusement.

“I'm never this lucky when _I_ want milk in my tea,” Sebastian replies.

Jim cocks his head. “Why don't you come straight home?”

“Because I smell and I'm dirty afterwards. You don't need to be subjected to that,” Sebastian responds, pulling out a surprisingly clean pair of cups and a teaspoon.

“You don't get a place in Mayfair working in McDonalds,” Jim murmurs with a smirk.

Sebastian curls his lip, but continues, “I keep my gear here anyway.”

Jim's eyes light up in interest. “Sebastian, do you have a _uniform_?”

The blond gives him a sidelong look as he waits on the water boiling. “You realise I wore fatigues in the army, right? But no, I don't need a uniform now. Just something dark, not flashy. Or a suit, depending on what needs doing.”

Jim processes this information as Sebastian prepares the tea. “Do you not have to give your uniform back if you get kicked out?”

Sebastian makes a face. “Pretty much, yes, but only what I had with me at the time. They didn't mention my old stuff.”

“So what do you _do_?” Jim asks.

Sebastian hands him a warm cup. “Stuff.”

“Basher...”

“You'll see soon enough,” Sebastian shrugs, looking worried.

“You already know what I do for a living, Seb,” Jim shrugs, gazing over the steam.

Sebastian tries to curl his lips teasingly. “Me?”

“I am not your kept boy, Sebastian!” Jim rebuffs.

Sebastian smiles then, genuinely, the playful little 'I'm not really sorry I was bad' one. He waits a moment to determine whether Jim will smack him, then reaches for his own drink.

“You seemed to have an idea of what I was to you in the bedroom earlier,” Jim mutters.

Sebastian spits his tea over the counter. “Fucker,” he splutters.

Jim's smile spreads wickedly. “We-ell yes, but you said it more politely then.”

Sebastian slams his cup down on the work surface and snatches Jim's away, dumping it behind them. Jim steps back.

Sebastian swings Jim carefully against the counter, placing a palm heavily on either side, blocking Jim's escape. “Pleased with yourself?”

Jim's eyes are wide, but his lips are curved upwards. “Sebastian, this isn't getting your Webley found.”

Sebastian's gaze on him is heated. “It can wait.”

There's a power and possessiveness in the blond's gait and Jim likes it. He licks his lips, waiting for Sebastian's next move.

“Bratty. Little. Twink,” Sebastian growls softly.

“What are you going to do about it?” Jim whispers harshly.

Sebastian spins Jim around forcefully, bruising the teen's hips a little on the granite, and yanks unceremoniously at Jim's bottoms.

Jim expects an impending spanking, but Sebastian merely slaps his pale legs apart and then Jim squeaks as he feels Sebastian's nose against the crack of his cheeks.

Sebastian laughs, his breath warm on Jim's sensitive skin. “What, you're shy all of a sudden?”

Jim huffs, moving one of the cups further away in case he knocks it over.

Sebastian licks his way up the back of Jim's thighs, provoking a gasp. Slowly, he pushes Jim's cheeks apart and laps teasingly at the exposed red skin there.

Jim's breathing hitches, and he pushes into the contact. Sebastian grins and swirls his tongue over Jim's adorable little rosebud, amused at how it quivers.

“Missed me?” he murmurs to it, stroking it gently with a finger.

Jim wriggles his hips. “Yes...”

Sebastian kisses and teases, drawing his fingers under his tongue to coat them in enough saliva to use as lube. He pushes in slowly, and Jim makes pretty, wicked, encouraging noises.

Sebastian laughs, kissing and licking and fucking a very, very willing Jim on his fingers.

Jim is practically dancing at the touch, and doesn't care a jot about the tea spilling over the rims of both cups.

“Fuck me!” the brunet demands breathily.

Sebastian stands and pats Jim's round cheek. “Nope, like you said, this isn't finding my antique handgun.” 

Jim whirls around, horrified. “Sebastian if you don't finish me I will _chuck_ you.”

Sebastian laughs and flips Jim around, replacing his fingers and wrapping his free hand around Jim's cock.

Jim's pupils are blown. “Yes, now, now, now, _please Sebastian_.”

Sebastian smiles and works his fingers as he takes Jim's length in his mouth. Jim groans, bucking his slender hips, and Sebastian sucks unrelentingly.

It's quicker and harder than Jim is used to from Sebastian, and Jim loves it. He absolutely yells when he cums, and Sebastian's never heard such a satisfying noise.

He chases the last trickle of fluid with his tongue and drawls, “Told you you were spoiled.”

Jim grins a little, his legs weak. “I am,” he murmurs.

Sebastian laps away the worst of the saliva from Jim's rear then pulls up his clothing. Picks Jim up and sits him on the counter until he can walk properly.

Jim glances at the mess beside his leg. “Want me to wash those up?”

Sebastian sneers at the tea, reaching close to nip Jim's throat. “Leave it, I'll get then another time.”

Jim looks at him. “No, you won't.” 

Sebastian grins. “Okay, I won't. I'll exchange two fine English gold coins in Poundland for replacements.” 

Jim laughs. “Fucking clean them, Basher.”

“My work is never done, is it?” Sebastian protests, but he quickly washes out the abandoned cups and wipes the wet part of the counter. He swipes the unwashed spoon into the sink when Jim isn't looking.

Jim slips down, testing the strength of his legs. “Shall we get searching then?”

Sebastian stiffens, but nods. Might as well get the reveal over with at the same time.

Jim gives him a pondering look and a small shove. “Lead the way.”

Sebastian is wary to show Jim the standard armamentarium of a person like himself, but he squares his shoulders and does not stop Jim from walking into the closet which serves as his armoury. The space has an execrable appearance like the rest of the flat, but the weapons are of exceptional caliber. 

Jim heaves a slow, deep breath then looks back around at Sebastian, wide eyed. There are guns everywhere, and some of them look to be the custom built kind that cost thousands of pounds. That scope tattoo on Sebastian's arm seems a lot more significant now.

The muscled blonde is clearly uncomfortable as he waits for the brunet's reaction. Jim's fingers twitch for a minute, considering how lethal this collection proves Sebastian to be.

But it doesn't make him feel any less comfortable. Sebastian is his.

“So you kill people for a living?” Jim surmises. “Not just animals?” 

“Sometimes.” 

“What else?” Jim questions. At Sebastian's silence Jim teases, “Oh, don't tell me _you_ sell your arse too.” 

Sebastian lets out a bark of laughter. “I think being built like a brick shithouse would make that difficult. Bit intimidating for Johns.” 

Jim regards Sebastian, wondering what the second job could be. “Porn then?” 

Sebastian is suddenly a little flustered, not because there are certain youthful indiscretions floating around somewhere which he is never, ever, ever letting Jim see, but because of the calculating way Jim is looking at him. Like Sebastian is just perfect for the adult film industry, despite (or perhaps in accompaniment to) the scars and loud tattoos. 

“Gambling,” Sebastian says quickly, before Jim can get any more funny ideas. “I'm… a bit of a professional gambler.”

“That how you pay for our place?” Jim asks.

Sebastian makes an awkward face. “That was family money. Before I got cut off.”

“For gambling?”

Sebastian curls his lips. “For lots of things.”

“Like getting discharged?”

“Absolutely.”

Jim runs his fingers over some of the less intimidating looking guns. “Do you name them?”

Sebastian blinks. “Not since Prom-um..”

Jim looks around, smiling questioningly.

“I wrecked my favourite gun and had to bury it in East Africa. Poor Prometheus.”

Jim's eyes sparkle. “You buried your _gun_?”

Fuck! “No...”

“You did. You just said.”

Sebastian sighs. “It was a perfect gun. Loyal.”

Jim continues to appear amused, but looks around. “I don't see an old-fashioned handgun.”

Sebastian scans the room. “No, I didn't really think it would be here without my memory, but I had to check.”

Jim notices a metallic glint behind some old boxes of ammunition. “What's that?”

Sebastian glances over. “Oh. A useless Yankee Colt. Piece of crap.”

“Why have it if you don't like it?”

“Belonged to someone I was friends with. Seemed wasteful to chuck it.”

“Was?”

“They died,” Sebastian says, but Jim can't tell if Sebastian means by his own hand. He doesn't really mind either way.

Sebastian traces his fingers over a few custom Gibbs revolvers, then jerks his head. “Come on, it's not here.”

“Could you have left it at a job?” Jim asks.

“Fuck no. And even if I was that useless, I wouldn't have used this Webley for work. It was my Grandfather's.”

“Did you like your grandfather then?”

“Not particularly, but I liked his gun,” Sebastian answers honestly.

He walks back through to the living area and flops onto the threadbare, ugly couch. Jim follows.

Sebastian sighs, and Jim almost thinks he's steeling himself to call a mafia don as Sebastian pulls out a phone and miserably puts it to his ear.

“Mother?”

_Oh._

Sebastian's expression turns black as he listens to the other end of the line. After a while, he interrupts, “Mother, when Conduit Street was being redecorated, did He take anything?”

Another lengthy reply, and then Sebastian's face hardens. “My Grandfather's gun, Mother.”

“Of course He did.” Sebastian hangs up angrily.

“Are you alright?” Jim asks.

Sebastian glowers. He mutters, “I _knew_ I hadn't misplaced it.”

Abruptly his face brightens. “But then again, a twink in hand is better than an old gun in the cupboard, eh?”

Jim squeaks as Sebastian pulls him into his lap, and tries to scowl. “Call me that again and your tongue _will_ be forfeit, meathead.”

Sebastian rubs his cheek playfully against Jim. “Oh, is that anyway to talk to your-”

“ _Seb._ Don't. Say. It.”


	29. Boss

Sebastian opens his eyes blearily in the morning to discover Jim is watching him intently.

“What's the matter?” Sebastian mumbles, rubbing sleepily at his face. “Was I snoring?”

“No,” Jim responds in a voice that gives nothing away.

Sebastian stares at him for a beat and then sighs. “Jim, if you're thinking about killing me again...”

“I'm not!” Jim blurts. He frowns a little, “Well, I did think about it, but I'm not going to.”

Sebastian snorts derisively. “Worried about the state of your arse if you try it?”

Jim licks his lips. “Preoccupied with yours, actually.”

Sebastian blinks at him, too tired to follow the conversation. “What?”

Jim gives a small, hopeful, endearingly wicked smile. “What I've been thinking about. Is mostly your arse.”

Sebastian tugs Jim closer with an amused smile. “Really?”

Jim's eyes sparkle. “You paid me a lot of attention yesterday, and I'd like to return the favour.”

“Maybe you're not so spoiled after all,” Sebastian murmurs playfully.

Jim smirks and leans over Sebastian to retrieve lube from the bedside drawer. He kisses Sebastian's jaw. “Turn over.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, but complies easily enough.

Jim reaches down to retrieve Sebastian's discarded shirt. He pushes the larger man's hands towards the headboard and knots the shirt sleeves around Sebastian's wrists, binding the blond efficiently to the bed.

Sebastian chuckles, not resisting at all. “Eager this morning, pet?”

Jim cracks a palm across Sebastian's rear, enjoying the surprised cry that results. “Didn't give you permission to talk, and you know how I feel about that word.”

Sebastian looks over his shoulder, heat and amusement in his eyes. “I can think of another word you don't like.”

Jim smacks him again, sharply, and Sebastian winces even as he laughs. Jim yanks away Sebastian's boxers, exposing splodges of pink and red, and Sebastian wriggles helpfully.

Pushing Sebastian's thighs apart with his knee, Jim drops between Sebastian's legs and makes quick work of preparation. He doesn't linger and tease with his fingers the way Sebastian tends to, wanting Sebastian to remain a little too tight. Jim wants him to feel it all day.

Sebastian can tell, and is enthusiastic as he offers himself up to Jim. The brunet rises up and places a hand beneath Sebastian's shoulder blades, pushing the blond down into the pillows and holding him there.

“You're mine,” Jim asserts.

Cheek pressed into a pillowcase, Sebastian's grin spreads across his face. “Yes, Sir.”

Jim plants a quick kiss on Sebastian's spine, then pulls on a condom and lines himself up.

Sebastian stills at the presence, the muscles in his back shifting as he slowly leans back onto Jim.

The brunet runs a hand over Sebastian's skin, waiting until he feels the blond relax around him. Sebastian's almost there when Jim pushes, and Sebastian groans at the breach.

“I'm going to take you hard,” Jim promises.

Sebastian nods quickly. “Please.”

Jim is quiet then, being careful with his shallow thrusts for mere moments before beginning to snap his hips viciously.

Sebastian moans, scrabbling on his knees to find purchase against Jim's punishing pace.

“Like that?” Jim asks almost cruelly, his eyes sparkling.

Sebastian nods quickly, the skin of his elbows turning white as he braces against the sharp thrusts.

Jim lands a burning spank across Sebastian's cheek. “Pardon?”

“Yes, Boss!” Sebastian drawls, pushing closer.

“Slut,” Jim responds affectionately, amused by how Sebastian's breath catches as Jim batters against the blond's prostate.

“Mm, yours,” Sebastian mutters breathily, surprising Jim a little. The brunet presses another kiss onto Sebastian's ribs and continues to fuck the blond hard. He is handling Sebastian so violently that the blond's prick bounces beneath them, flecks of precum spattering Jim's knees and Sebastian's chest.

Jim's not going to reach around. He's damn well going to make Sebastian come just from having his arse thoroughly fucked, and they'll see who the twink is then.

Which is exactly what happens. Sebastian's masculine grunting has turned to keening, and he's so fucking tight, and whimpering and Jim knows he's painfully close.

“Not yet,” Jim warns commandingly, “don't you dare cum until I've given you permission.”

Sebastian snaps his head around, his eyes wild and needy, but his brows knot with effort. He'll obey.

“Do you _deserve_ to cum Sebastian?” Jim asks tauntingly. “Have you been good?”

“I _will_ be,” Sebastian pants. “Jim, I'll be good, please...”

Jim spanks Sebastian and smirks at the gasp, even though there's sweat running down his own skin now. The pace is brutal. But if it's torturing Jim then it is certainly torturing Sebastian, and that's the plan.

“I don't think you have been though,” Jim mocks. “Didn't you have some choice words for me earlier… Pet?”

“I take it back!” Sebastian moans.

“Oh, do you?”

“Yes!”

“No more smart mouth?”

Sebastian is quiet for a beat, even though he desperately wants release. He can't make that promise, because he'll surely break it.

“Sebastian?”

“No,” whimpers Sebastian, “but you can punish me for it.”

That's good enough for Jim. “Alright, since I'm feeling generous. Ask me nicely.”

“Please Jim, please please I want it...”

“Please who?” Jim drawls.

Sebastian tags on immediately, his skin shining and his thick lower lip hanging down delectably. “PLEASE BOSS.”

Jim shifts upwards, making Sebastian groan, and grabs at the blond hair, pulling Sebastian's head back. “You're going to cum for me,” Jim growls.

Sebastian flushes, because that shouldn't be enough to push him over the edge, but it is, and then Jim is rocking his hips hard enough to take Sebastian's breath away, and it's too much, and it's perfect, and Sebastian is seeing stars, and then it's black.

And then Sebastian wakes, under Jim's watchful gaze again.

“That good, huh?” Jim drawls smugly.

Sebastian cannot bring himself to glare. “You gonna wake me up like that every morning?”

Jim grins and finishes unfastening the shirt binding Sebastian's wrists. He rubs the pinched skin gently, absently.

“Don't want you to get _spoiled_ ,” Jim smirks.

Sebastian laughs, tiredly pulling Jim close. “Oh, I deserved that, didn't I?”

Jim nuzzles in a little, but tries to keep his expression haughty. “Oh, you did.”

“Can I get a kiss?” Sebastian smiles.

“I don't know, won't that spoil you?” Jim mocks, but he reaches up to catch Sebastian's lips anyway.

Sebastian trails his fingers south. “You want more?”

Jim arches into the contact but shakes his head. Sweat sticks his hair to his skull. “I need fed.”

Sebastian nods. His stomach's protesting too after that work out. “Right. Sustenance first. More sex later.”

Jim grins. “ _If_ you're a good boy.”

“I took your cock like a _very_ good boy,” Sebastian responds in faux indignation.

Jim giggles, clambers over Sebastian and heads downstairs. “Maybe.”

“Just maybe?” Sebastian huffs playfully, following on jelly legs.

“We'll practice,” Jim promises brightly.

Sebastian catches up and nips Jim's neck lightly. “Oh, I hope so.”

They spend most of the day in bed, but in the early evening Sebastian gets them into the shower and persuades Jim that they should spend some time outside. Jim's mellow enough to agree to almost anything by this point, so he lets Sebastian bundle him up, Sebastian muttering about dragging Jim to the shops tomorrow for a better fitting coat.

“If this keeps me warm what does it matter if I look like an urchin?” Jim protests. “That look works on you.”

Sebastian laughs softly at that, muttering something that might have been, “It's about taking good care of you,” and fusses with the scarf around Jim's neck. Sebastian's own is so far managing to hide the succession of love bites beneath.

Sebastian takes Jim to the Christmas Market for food. They enjoy wandering around together in the cold, examining the stalls and breathing in the various foods.

They make a selection and eat blissfully. Sebastian cadges tastes of Jim's food as a way to finagle quick 'thank you' kisses. Jim blushes a little, but he likes it.

“Eat your own,” he scolds.

Sebastian's brows rise naughtily, and Jim knows that _he_ is now going to be eaten when they get home.

They pass the following days in a similar pattern, trying different food vendors each night. Sebastian does get Jim a better-fitting coat, and Jim wears it contentedly as they wander the park.

“Hey Bash?”

Sebastian looks across mildly, pulling a plastic fork from his mouth. “Mmm?”

“How come you took me to Conduit Street instead of your other flat? I'd have been less out of place there.”

“Place is filthy and riddled with damp, would hardly have done your recovery much good,” Sebastian explains.

“What about after?”

“What, when you were better? We'd spent so much time in the apartment that I didn't hate it anymore. I don't hate it anymore.”

Jim wants to ask why their company changed Sebastian's feelings, but doesn't. Instead he asks, “Why'd you hate it?”

Sebastian shrugs. “I hated growing up the way I did. Conduit Street reminded me a lot of being young and not having any choices.”

Sebastian expects a 'poor little rich kid' retort, but Jim doesn't make one. “It doesn't remind you of that anymore?”

“Not really. It's our space,” Sebastian shrugs.

Jim smiles. He puts his food container in a nearby bin and quietly links hands with Sebastian. Sebastian squeezes the smaller fingers in his own. They're warm from holding the food.

“Do you like it here?” Sebastian asks.

Jim considers their surroundings. Sebastian may be a big, scary, ex-soldier assassin, who hated the Mayfair apartment, but he evidently has a large soft spot for the Winter Wonderland. It makes Jim like it here.

But he knows that's not what Sebastian means.

“...I could live in a cardboard box with you and be alright, I think,” Jim admits carefully.

“I don't think I'd fit all this body into a cardboard box,” Sebastian snorts. He pulls Jim close. “I'm glad you came into my life, you know.”

Jim cannot get the words out, so he reaches up on his toes and presses his mouth to Sebastian's warm, stained lips.


	30. Mark

Jim's head rests at the bottom of Sebastian's ribcage, his fingers tracing over the healing pink 'J' carved into Sebastian's leg.

Sebastian is content in the contact, sprawled out on the oversized couch.

Jim realises they've been living together for a month. There's a street smart part of him in the back of his head that reminds Jim that he shouldn't be so relaxed. Shouldn't be letting himself get so soft.

But Jim also absolutely does not want to be anywhere else. He rolls over, his head lolling back against Sebastian. Regards the blond fondly under half lowered eyelids.

Sebastian gives Jim a smile, and feels a burn of affection for these moments.

Sebastian hopes Jim will stay (at least for Christmas, but preferably forever.) He's fond of the fractious individual. And of their odd, nascent relationship.

He strokes Jim's scalp, still the warmest part of the cold blooded little creature.

The brunet smiles, his eyes warm. He turns his cheek to kiss the pink mark on Sebastian's thigh in an unguarded gesture of tenderness.

“What time are you working?” Jim asks.

“Need to leave the back of two,” Sebastian murmurs, his fingers still resting in Jim's hair.

Jim stares are Sebastian's leg. “Can I come to work with you?” 

The hand on Jim's soft scalp stills. Sebastian purses his lips as he says, “You… do realise what I do?” 

Jim almost rolls his eyes. “Yes, Seb, I did see your armoury.”

Sebastian muses. He's not playing heavy today, just a straightforward sniping job. Licking his lips, Sebastian responds, “Should be alright.”

Jim looks surprised and pleased. “Really? You don't mind?”

Sebastian fixes him with a serious look, “As long as you do exactly what I say when I tell you, no hesitation, don't draw attention to us and don't distract me, it should be okay.”

“No blow jobs until after you've shot the guy, got it.”

Sebastian narrows his eyes sternly. “I'm serious. Deadly serious.”

“I know, I'm not stupid,” Jim replies with a steady earnestness. There's a dark curiosity in his eyes which catches Sebastian's interest.

But practical things first. “You'll need to dress, if you're coming with me,” Sebastian declares. “And warmly, we're going to be freezing our asses off on a rooftop.”

Sebastian has always had suspicions that Jim has more moxie than he lets on, but it is an interesting feeling to have Jim accompany this earner with such comfortable attention.

He remembers what Jim says about having shot a loaded gun before. The young man sits quietly, fascinated as Sebastian sets up his gun, and Sebastian is intrigued by Jim's calm. “Had this custom made by a blind German guy,” Sebastian murmurs. “Cost an arm and a leg, but they weren't mine.”

Jim snickers quietly in appreciation.

Sebastian also expected Jim to get bored, but the teen seems far from it. It's clear to Jim that this is one of Sebastian's most significant bailiwicks, and it is fascinating to observe. 

Sebastian stiffens, recognising movement from his mark's window.

“I don't need to tell you that if you distract me whilst I'm working you'll have worse than a smacked bottom to worry about,” he warns distractedly as he gets into position. Jim does not need a more cogent explanation to understand that Sebastian is referring to a very nasty fate indeed for them both if this shot is missed.

He's silent, and Sebastian's focus seems absolute. The susurrus of the wind whips around the rooftops and the city bombinates beneath them.

Sebastian makes the shot, and although Jim doesn't have a glance down the scope worth hundreds of pounds, he can tell by Sebastian's expression that it's perfect.

Sebastian is instantly ducking and taking apart his equipment, shoving it into a gym bag with surprising swiftness.

He surprises Jim further by wrapping his fist in Jim's scarf, taking a quick, hard kiss, and then he's dragging Jim down out of the building and into London crowds.

It's interesting to note Sebastian does not confine his working hours to the crepuscular: it's broad daylight. Broad daylight in a month when it's usually dark when most people get up in the morning and dark when they come back from work. Dark when kids get dismissed from class even. That Sebastian has just committed murder and is now leading Jim with a nonchalant expression through a cluster of nannies and pensioners is somehow thrilling, and not just for Jim.

No one knows what they've just done.

Jim casts Sebastian's bag a mildly jealous look. Jim used to carry a knife, unknown to Sebastian, but he lost it when he got attacked. He hasn't missed it much, having gotten soft and feeling safe in Sebastian's bubble, but now Jim feels the lack.

Sebastian doesn't note the pining for a weapon, leading Jim back to the grotty flat on a wave of adrenaline. He cleans and puts away his gun with discipline, explaining what he's doing as he does. Jim watches, and reaches out to copy.

Sebastian hates people touching his guns. Normally. He hands pieces to Jim comfortably, and he can only think of one thing that he would rather be doing.

They finish up and the gun disappears into the armoury with the rest.

Then Sebastian shoves Jim into a wall, making the younger man breathless, and forces their lips together.

Jim drags him closer, plaster dust and flakes of paint rubbing into his clothes and dark hair. Their eyes have been blown since the kill, and adrenaline flows thickly through their systems.

Jim helps Sebastian unfasten both of their jeans, and then they're fucking passionately up against the thin wall without restraint.


	31. Presents

Jim eases out from under Sebastian's arm carefully and pads downstairs in the Conduit Street apartment. He's a bit sore from their rutting in Sebastian's other flat, but the pleasure that brings Jim is accompanied by a ball of anxiety in his stomach.

He's too attached. He is. Jim wants to stay forever, and that terrifies him.

He paces the living area for a bit, scratching at the freshly healed defensive scars on his arms.

It doesn't help. He feels sick. Pushes his palms into his eyes to try to block out the panic but it doesn't help much either. 

Sebastian didn't throw out the remaining cigarettes, did he? Jim roots around the kitchen drawers as quietly as he can. He is rewarded for his efforts by the discovery of both the pack and his lighter.

Jim carries them over to the not entirely dark window and wonders whether it would wake Sebastian to open the window. There's not much traffic noise at this time in the morning.

Fuck it, Seb's going to be able to smell the smoke either way, so it's not like there's much point trying to avoid getting into trouble.

Jim pushes open the stiff window and feels his flesh rise with goosepimples at the chill. He kicks his cold toes up onto the sill and leans against the frame, looking down at the sleepy street.

Jim lights up slowly, taking the first drag at a leisurely pace. He's not sure whether the action is actually calming, or if he's just soothed by the familiarity of the ritual. But it helps a bit.

Jim relaxes as he smokes, and by the time he flicks the butt away he is already half drowsing.

Sebastian discovers Jim asleep on the window ledge, chilly to the touch.

“Damned brat,” Sebastian sighs, leaning over to pull in the window until it's on the latch so he feels less worried about the idiot falling to his death.

Sebastian retreats upstairs and fetches a fleece-lined zipper which he drapes around Jim to fight the chill. Then he goes about cooking something to warm Jim's bones, as quietly as he can.

The smell seems to rouse the brunet. “Sebby?” he murmurs, rubbing at his eyes.

“Over here with your breakfast,” Sebastian replies, dripping jam into the porridge to ensure there's some fruit in the teen's diet along with those toxic chemicals.

Jim's voice is rough with sleep. “Why'm I… Oh.” He feels the cold lighter shift from his lap, underneath the cozy zipper.

“Oh,” Sebastian mocks gruffly.

Jim's cheeks turn pink. “Sorry.”

“Come get something warm in you,” Sebastian prompts.

Jim nods, climbing down from the window stiffly and obeying. He keeps Sebastian's zipper wrapped around him.

Sebastian nudges Jim onto a stool.

Jim turns around, brows creased a little. “You're not going to tell me off?”

Sebastian shrugs. “You know it's bad for you already.”

That makes Jim feel guiltier. He bows his head and eats his breakfast.

Sebastian can't help but snort. “You couldn't look sorrier if I turned you over my knees.”

“I doubt that,” Jim mumbles. Sebastian brushes a gentle hand over the younger man's scalp. Jim leans into the contact.

“You have a nightmare?” Sebastian asks.

Jim shakes his head meekly. “Was just… edgy.”

“Stressed again about getting comfortable,” Sebastian surmises.

Jim nods, feeling stupid.

“Anything I can do to help?” Sebastian asks.

Jim stares at his food, pulling the hand on his hair down around his shoulders, drawing Sebastian closer. “Already are,” he mumbles.

Sebastian presses a kiss atop Jim's head. “I'm not going anywhere and I'm not going to harm you,” he reminds the brunet.

Jim bites his lip. “Don't you feel like things are too good?”

“Like something's got to go wrong?” Sebastian asks through pursed lips.

Jim nods.

“Do you _really_ think I would let anything bad come between us?” Sebastian asks. “I'd fight your corner Arty.”

Jim spins around. “I...”

Sebastian grips him tight. “I know,” he answers warmly. “I know.”

Jim presses his lips into Sebastian's neck. “I'll be anything you want,” he whispers.

“Jim,” Sebastian responds, “the only thing I want is _you_. Be yourself, and that is more than enough.”

They spend most of the day comfortable in each other's company. Jim feels awkward at having almost confessed, but it gives him a warm feeling that Sebastian _knows_. It frightens Jim as well, his weakness being so exposed, but the affection Sebastian shows cannot help but make Jim feel safe. Brave.

Jim regards Sebastian for a bit, dressed in his stripey bottoms and sitting cross-legged on the couch.

“Is it okay if I go out for a while?” Jim asks carefully.

“By yourself?” Sebastian queries mildly.

Jim nods nervously.

Sebastian nods. “You survived for five days; I trust you. But be back for your pills at four. Or take them with you if you'll be longer.”

“I'll be back by four,” Jim responds with certainty. “Is there anything you want me to bring in? Food?”

“Not unless there's anything in particular that you fancy,” Sebastian replies.

Jim's lips twitch. “I fancy you.”

“I should hope so,” Sebastian replies, leaning over the arm of the couch for a kiss. Jim accepts eagerly.

Afterwards Jim dresses, pulling on a teeshirt and socks and his beloved trainers.

“Gloves; jacket; scarf,” Sebastian comments.

Jim agrees obediently, approaching Sebastian to twist his (formerly Sebastian's) scarf around properly, although Jim is certainly capable of doing it himself. He likes having Sebastian coddle him though.

Sebastian hands Jim his personal phone. “No nonsense. You get into trouble, you phone me.”

Jim stares at it for a moment. “Promise,” he says, and reaches up for another kiss.

Sebastian smiles at Jim, and tries to keep the smile on his face as the brunet disappears into the lift.

Jim has some of the money Sebastian had left for 'amusements' zipped in his pocket. He heads straight to Hyde Park, approaching the sweets stalls in the Christmas Market. He buys a piece of everything he ever noticed Sebastian's gaze linger on, and stuffs them into his jacket pockets, hoping they don't look too bulky on his return.

Jim takes the long walk home, past the big shops, just focusing in the strangeness of being outside without Sebastian. Being trusted. It's odd; pleasant, but Jim wouldn't like it every day.

He likes Sebastian's steady presence.

Jim stares at the shopfront of Hamley's. It's supposed to be his marker of where to turn and reach home, but the window displays are distracting.

He's got money in his pocket. (And Sebastian's phone, and doesn't that feel… special?)

Jim steps inside, warmed by the heater above the door, and wanders over to the plush toys feeling a little silly.

Tibbles could use a friend, right? A big, cuddly tiger.

Which can get shoved down Jim's coat after purchasing, because he's not going to be able to explain carrying home a toy store bag, and Sebastian isn't seeing this until Christmas.

If Jim stays. But he's starting to believe that he might.

There are plenty of different tigers, staring down at Jim with beady eyes in green, black, brown or gold.

But only one with piercing blue eyes. It's an easy choice.

Jim pays for the toy, relieved that the cashier doesn't ask whether it's for a child. It's late November, and the redheaded woman asks whether Jim wants the toy wrapped.

Jim nods and watches her deft hands move quickly. He hasn't had much practise doing that. Never been much call for it.

He pays.

She hands Jim the sweetly wrapped parcel. Jim wraps it in the bag to protect the paper from tearing and stuffs it down his front before stepping out, hoping Sebastian won't notice the swell.

Sebastian looks pleased to see him when Jim returns, but the brunet is wary of an embrace until he has shoved the gifts into the drawer where Sebastian keeps swimming trunks and summer shorts. Where they won't be found, with any luck.

“Can you put the kettle on?” Jim asks. “I'm freezing, let me get my cold stuff off then I'll be back down in a second.”

Sebastian gives him a dubious look but doesn't question. He rises to make the tea.

Jim returns swiftly and wraps his arms around Sebastian.

“Thanks for being you,” Jim murmurs.

Sebastian presses a kiss onto Jim's pink nose, tutting at the cold, and blows on Jim's face fondly to fight the chill. Jim's lips twitch upwards.

Sebastian rubs his arms over Jim's, stroking in a bit of heat, and then forces the tea into the brunet's grip.

“Get warm,” he orders.

“Okay, lo...” Jim tries to say it in a blasé way, just a cheeky, throwaway comment that he can shrug off. But a cold lump appears in his throat and he can't say it. Too dangerous.

Sebastian fixes him with a look, and simply tugs Jim over to the couch and snuggles up. Jim holds his tea to his chest and watches Sebastian sip at his own.

“Take your time,” Sebastian says softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Five more chapters to go and I'm already pining for these boys.


	32. Haste

Jim becomes increasingly involved in Sebastian's work, cleaning guns and sitting quietly beside him when Sebastian snipes. They both seem to enjoy both the adrenaline rush and the company, and it begins to fit into their domestic routine.

The routine shifts as Sebastian is woken by his work phone in the middle of the night. He sighs, sticking an arm out from the heat of the duvet and squinting at the screen in the black.

Last minute job. Great. It's like being back overseas with some prick in khaki screaming them all out of bed in the middle of the night.

Sebastian eases out from under Jim, trying not to wake him and wrapping the duvet close around the boy's shoulders. Jim opens his eyes anyway. “Seb?” he asks blearily.

“I've been given an unexpected job,” Sebastian explains, smoothing Jim's dark hair. “You want to come, or you want to stay under the covers?”

Jim stretches a little, still looking mostly asleep. “I'm coming with you,” he asserts.

“Alright pet,” Sebastian responds, bending to press a kiss on Jim's forehead. “Get dressed in some warm clothes and we'll go get a gun. We can share a shower when we get back to heat up.”

“Okay,” Jim murmurs, stepping out of bed and wrapping his arms around himself from the chill in the air. Sebastian helps him dress, pushing Jim's arms into yesterday's zipper and zipping it up tight. The fleece brushes cosily against Jim's neck. There's crease marks from the bedding imprinted on his cheek.

He is utterly adorable, and he's about to tag along to watch Sebastian blow a hole in someone's skull.

Sebastian pulls on a snug grey merle tracksuit, which will hopefully make him look like a gym addict walking the streets at an unreasonable time in the morning, and not a hired gun.

Jim's lips twitch. “You look good like that.”

Sebastian grins and gives him a kiss. “Oh yeah?”

Jim nods and lightly gropes Sebastian's rear, still not awake enough for his motor functions to respond tightly.

“If all goes well maybe I'll let you pull these down and you can bend me over the sofa in celebration,” Sebastian teases.

Jim grins, and leans up to nip Sebastian's ear before they leave.

It's still dark, and the area Sebastian's 'armoury' is stored in isn't as well-lit by street lights as it could be. Jim has excellent night vision, and from the way Sebastian leads Jim through the pitch black lobby of the tenement suggests that Sebastian has too, because if he'd merely memorised the route he would have walked right in to the scruffy, stolen bikes dumped outside a neighbour's door.

Sebastian lets them in to his own flat and quickly gathers what he needs, then he's leading Jim to a fairly well-known shopping area and up to another roof.

He sets up his gun facing a run down building.

“Drug dealers?” Jim murmurs.

“Nah,” Sebastian murmurs, “a lot of these buildings only _look_ run down from the outside. Dungeons and stuff.”

“Oh,” Jim responds. As he watches, four naked figures cross in front of one of the windows. Sebastian concentrates, then he's leaving a deadly red dot in the forehead that matches the picture on his phone.

“Time to go,” Sebastian purrs, packing up swiftly as the three remaining humans start to panic.

Jim is filled with adrenaline when they spill back into the scruffy flat, and is filled with impatience whilst they clean up the gun and put it away, electricity sparking between the two men every time their fingers or gazes brush.

Soon they're falling over the threadbare couch and pulling at each other's clothes, mouthing enthusiastically at exposed skin.

Sebastian is shoving his fingers down the couch, feeling for lube, and Jim has ripped down the waistband before him, not giving Sebastian the chance to kick his shoes off so the grey fleece bunches at the blond's ankles. Jim dips under that like a seal, Sebastian's thighs crashing like waves against his shoulders. Sebastian opens the lube and Jim is snatching it, putting it to use, and Basher can certainly take a bashing.

Jim crashes his mouth against Sebastian, blond stubble grazing his skin and teeth nipping at his reddening lips.

Sebastian's strong legs are pinning Jim tight against him and they fuck with such urgency that they roll off of the couch, hitting hard off of the floor and the flimsy looking coffee table. It hurts, new bruises promised for the morrow, but the pair make no move to come apart, grinding into the grime and panting.

Sebastian comes with a roar, spattering the white teeshirt which has risen up to expose his muscular belly.

Jim blinks, the rough sound at odds with the needy rock of the other man's hips. Sebastian looks different like this, pinned to the floor in a tracksuit, his cheeks pink and his blond hair still mussed from sleep (and not improved by their fucking). He looks young, no more than nineteen at most, being screwed like a teenager in the space between an old sofa and table.

It does something strange to Jim, adding something odd and new to their power dynamic. He snaps his hips viciously, and Sebastian is leaning up to kiss him hungrily as Jim empties himself inside the blond.

Sebastian pulls Jim close and the brunet collapses down on top of him, spent. He wraps one hand in Sebastian's, and the blond folds his free arm around Jim's narrow back.

They lie still for a while, their pounding hearts calming.

An obnoxious buzzer sounds.

“Postman wants in,” Sebastian explains. “Lie as you are; someone else will get it.”

Jim flops back down, and looks around lazily as mail drops through the stiff letterbox shortly after.

Sebastian glares in the direction of the door for a moment then leans back against the carpet. “It can wait,” he declares.

They cuddle for a while until Sebastian declares, “We should think about getting up. You're bound to be due your tablets by now.”

Jim sighs but he's already feeling the ache, so he extracts himself and forces himself to his feet. Pulls up his trackies. 

Sebastian sighs at the liquid dripping from his cheeks. The mess on his chest has mostly dried in. “Pass me something to wipe this up, will you?”

Jim pales. “Oh my God, Seb, I didn't-”

“Chill,” Sebastian responds, holding up a hand firmly. “I'm probably due a check up anyway.”

Jim bites his lip. “But...”

Sebastian sighs. “Baby, come here.”

Jim drops back down, looking wide-eyed and worried. Panicked.

“Jesus, Jim, relax,” Sebastian murmurs, rubbing the man's cheek. “We both forgot. We'll get checked out and it'll be fine.”

Jim is honestly trying to obey and stay calm, but he can feel the horror building. He breathes quickly.

Sebastian pulls him close, leaving a few gooey marks on Jim's zipper. “Calm down. It's alright. I'll take you to the drop in right now if it'll make you feel better, but if anything's wrong it won't be showing yet.”

“But what if I've-”

“It could just as easily be the other way around,” Sebastian points out reasonably. “Now calm down. If anything's wrong, we'll get some medicine, and it'll be fine.”

“What if it's not?”

“Then the sooner we get checked out the better,” Sebastian states, rubbing Jim's neck soothingly.

“Why are you so calm?” Jim asks.

“Because it takes two, Jim, and even if you gave me the clap it was absolutely worth it. And if I've given you something, well, I already make sure you take your medicine so what's a few more tablets?”

Jim laughs weakly. “You're not even real.”

Sebastian's voice is wry. “Well the cum dripping down my arse feels real, so if you're calm now can you get me some tissues or something? This is really uncomfortable.”

“Okay,” Jim murmurs, pressing a shy kiss onto Sebastian's face. He gets the tissues and then fetches the mail, holding the envelopes out quietly when Sebastian is ready.

Sebastian opens the first and laughs uproariously. 

Jim's brows gather in curiosity.

Sebastian hands over a letter. A reminder that he's due his next sexual health check.


	33. Heart

The boys wait five days to get tested for chlamydia and gonorrhea, but they need to wait a few weeks to get accurate tests for hepatitis and other diseases (and that is _with_ the fast version of the HIV test).

Neither of them are a stranger to sexual health clinics, but it's the first time either have been with a partner, and there's definitely a bit more embarrassment for them both by going as a _couple_. They've never really admitted themselves as such to anyone, the pleasant girl at the hotel not seeming to count because Jim and Sebastian _weren't_ a couple at that point, and coming out as it were in such a situation is just a tad mortifying.

Jim is tense-limbed and stiff-faced both in the waiting room and in the examination rooms. Sebastian keeps touching and petting at him reassuringly, and Jim is uncertain whether that helps or makes it worse.

His face flames as the health practitioner keeps referring to Sebastian as his _partner_ and the worst bit is that he actually likes it. But not here. It's too embarrassing here.

Sebastian hasn't been embarrassed about being in a sexual health clinic since he was about fifteen years old, cadging free condoms for youthful experimentation, so he's a little surprised by his own discomfort. Part of it is coming from Jim's evident agitation, but the squirmy feeling in his gut is also because… This is like being a couple. An actual, validated couple.

And they haven't outright said that to each other yet. Insinuated and skirted the topic plenty times, sure, but never actually… said it.

“Thank fuck that's over,” Jim exclaims when it's done, dragging Sebastian home swiftly.

Sebastian snorts. “We haven't had all of our results yet.”

“Better than having swabs stuck in embarrassing places,” Jim mutters.

Sebastian flicks over his gaze. “You're not used to having things stuck in there?”

Jim cuffs his shoulder in vague disgust. “It's different.”

“Why?”

Jim shifts his weight in discomfort. “You were present.”

Sebastian looks a little hurt. “Why's that make a difference?”

“Not like that,” Jim says quickly, hating having put that expression on Sebastian's face. “I just meant… I'm not used to… anyone being there. For anything.”

“You're independent,” Sebastian says.

Jim nods. “It's not always been a choice either. When I was tiny my mam only ever came to the GP with me if she needed to make sure I didn't let anyone see my bruises.”

Sebastian freezes, although he'd recognised the look of that old scar on Jim's shoulder the first time the teen undressed.

Jim presses his fingers into his temples at Sebastian's expression. “I just mean… Thank you for coming with me. At the hospital as well.”

Sebastian blinks, and then he's pulling Jim close. “I've _always_ got your back.”

“Thanks,” Jim mumbles into Sebastian's chest.

Sebastian tugs the smaller man onto the couch and rests gentle kisses on Jim's forehead, eyelids, nose, cheeks, chin and throat. He brushes away Jim's soft hair. It's getting long.

Sebastian meets Jim's gaze, breath tickling his cheeks. “You are my whole world,” he states.

Jim's lashes and lips flutter in pleased surprise, then he's leaning up and kissing Sebastian hard. Sebastian slides one of the hands gripping Jim's back down to that perfect little rear.

And then a phone rings.

“Ignore it,” Sebastian insists, leaning forwards to keep kissing as Jim pulls away at the noise.

“It might be work,” Jim responds dubiously.

“Sounds like my personal phone; so it's no one who comes close to as important as you,” Sebastian gasps, kissing along Jim's neck.

Jim starts to lean back in, but the phone doesn't seem to want to stop.

Sebastian sighs, takes his phone out without looking at it, and cancels the call. Tosses the dark oblong onto the table.

Tries to recommence kissing.

It rings again.

Jim leans over to look at the screen. “Sebastian, it's your mum.”

Sebastian makes a face. “Then I'm definitely not answering it.”

“What if it's about your Webley?”

Sebastian blinks. “It won't be, but I'm impressed you remembered the name.”

Jim hits him lightly. “I listen to you!”

“Oh, so when you're naughty it's not because you weren't listening, eh?” Sebastian teases, patting Jim's bottom.

Jim rolls his eyes and glances pointedly at the phone. “She seems insistent. Maybe it's an emergency.”

“Chance would be a fine thing,” mutters Sebastian, but he reluctantly picks up the phone. Stomach tightening, he hits the answer button.

He listens for a moment. “Canard,” Sebastian responds, “idle gossip. What put that idea into your head?” 

More talking on her side.

“Fuck the sanctimonious, draconian, old devil!” Sebastian says sharply. Jim's feelings bifurcate between concern and amusement at Sebastian's evident displeasure. 

“Mum, Mum no...”

Sebastian's cheeks are flushed, and Jim is fascinated.

“WHAT?”

Sebastian rubs a hand down his face, looking drained and tested. “Mum, I told you, I'm not coming for Christmas.” 

More noise from the phone.

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “It'll save you all the obloquy,” he responds coolly. 

What Sebastian's mother says next causes the blood to drain from his face. “You can't make me do that.”

“Well fuck them, I'm not… No… I said no. No, Mother.”

Jim puts a timid hand on Sebastian's thigh. Sebastian squeezes it, grateful for the reassurance.

“Why the fuck would I subject him to that? ...There's not one amongst you that wouldn't make a normal person want to blow his brains out if forced to eat together.”

Sebastian's grip is tight; tense. It's new to Jim to be the soothing one.

“I'm a grown man, you can't...”

The phone goes dead. Sebastian grits his teeth, then tosses it across the room.

Jim edges over slowly. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Sebastian pouts dully.

“What happened?”

Sebastian looks wary and upset. “She's decided we've to have dinner together. The three of us.”

“Your father?” Jim asks sympathetically.

Sebastian shakes his head guiltily. “She wants to meet _you_.”

“She… what?”

“I am so sorry, you don't deserve this, and you don't owe me anything, you don't have to...”

“Sebastian,” Jim says more calmly than he feels.

Sebastian looks up obediently, his lips downturned.

“Will you get in trouble if I don't go?”

“I'm always in trouble. But my mother is vile. She will tear you apart with a smile.”

“I was almost stabbed to death; I think I can handle some name-calling,” Jm responds dryly, but there is a tight knot in his stomach. He wants Sebastian's family to like him.

“On the bright side, I can't add you to the pudding club,” Sebastian says grimly, thinking back to certain comesome servants. 

Jim's gaze flicks up. “If she asks for grandchildren I'm leaving.”

Sebastian smirks a little. “I think having one of you running around to pick up after is enough.”

Jim snorts, but he's worried by how stiff Sebastian still looks.

The blond is irritated that his mother dismisses his objections as mere cavil, and is even more frustrated to be dragooned into a meeting. It seems the call from his mother is an anathema to his previous good mood, and Sebastian broods for a while before sighing and apologising. “Come here,” he requests softly.

Jim approaches, and is surprised when Sebastian wraps his arms around him firmly, pressing his forehead against Jim's as though receiving significant comfort from Jim's presence. 

“I've got your back too, you know,” Jim says.

Sebastian gives a genuine smile. Then he chews his lip. “You should know… I'm the bad one. Amongst my siblings. The disappointment. It won't be pretty.”

Jim gets the feeling Sebastian's youthful indecorous conduct is a sticking point in an unpleasant family situation, and that the discharge won't have helped matters. The blond looks tired. Strained.

“Well I think you're perfect,” Jim says firmly. “So _fuck_ what any of them think.”

Sebastian smiles. He holds Jim close and murmurs, “So now you know. My life's a mess.”

Jim wriggles around to look at Sebastian properly. In a faux scathing voice he retorts, “I almost died a homeless whore. You're brilliant.”

Sebastian bites Jim's nose. “And now you have me, and I'll break the neck of anyone who touches you.”

Jim pinches Sebastian's cheek. “That'll make your mummy proud.”

Sebastian snorts. “I'm hardly a mummy's boy, I just hate her less than my father.”

“Is there anyone you do like?” Jim asks.

“The staff?” Sebastian sneers. “And even some of them are up themselves. Like, my big brother, Rawdon, he died in service, wasn't too bad I suppose, and my other brother, Severin, is posted on the other side of the world. He's alright. I don't like my sisters. And...”

Jim touches Sebastian's face. “And?”

Sebastian puts a hand over Jim's and replies with a frown. “And there's Jasper, who doesn't look anything like us, and was born pretty fucking quickly after Rawdon died.”

“What do you mean?”

“My parents very much believe in 'an heir and a spare' and there was only me and Sev left when our brother died. And I'm never going to fucking inherit. My father's got bastards all over the place, and I think my mother just let him take Jasp in.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Not really? Jasper and I don't really have anything in common, but I don't hate him. It's hardly his fault. But I hate the… fakeness of it? Like our name and family are supposed to mean something and it _doesn't_.”

“You mean something,” Jim says, and his dark eyes are so sincere that Sebastian feels a million times better.

He feels a little guilty that Jim's reward is being fitted for another suit for the occasion: Jim has grown, and the mother beast has expensive tastes. Jim squirms and huffs and jokes, but Sebastian does his best to make it up to the brunet with affection and food and sex.

The dreaded date comes around sooner than either young man would like. They dress slowly, trying to banter, but regularly lapsing into nervous silences. Jim struggles with his new cufflinks. He's seen clients use them before, but they're a lot less simple than they look. Sebastian helps him quietly, pressing a kiss under Jim's jaw where his pulse throbs.

Sebastian's mother is the sort of woman who knows 'errata' is the plural of 'erratum' and is rarely slow to point out Sebastian's many behavioural errors. Stepping reluctantly into the expensive restaurant with Jim, Sebastian braces himself for some vile sockdolager from the woman and wonders whether Jim will have some pithy aphorism which might give the old bitch an apoplectic fit. Sebastian hopes so.

She's already seated, fussing with her compact, and snaps it shut loudly as the young men approach.

Sebastian sweeps a hand towards her. “My vituperative mother,” he announces. 

Mrs Moran gives him a cool look. “My bibulous, recidivist son,” she responds. 

Jim wonders whether he's going to understand a word they're saying the entire time he and Sebastian are stuck here. The brunet supposes he'll just have to focus on the venomous tones and nod politely.

“And this is Jim,” Sebastian adds.

“You mean James, dear,” Mrs Moran says. “James..?”

“Moriarty,” Jim supplies nervously.

She bats her eyes a little at his accent. Jim tries not to squirm. Her own accent is a thousand times posher than her son's: clipped and superbly English.

“The Morans originated from Ireland,” she comments. “Ó Móráin.”

Jim blinks.

Sebastian's mother peers at Jim openly, making him feel cold and anxious. “He's lissome, I'll give you that,” she comments, raising her gaze to her well-built son. 

Sebastian snorts softly, and Jim wonders if that might have been a compliment. “He's a gem,” Sebastian states, pulling out a chair for Jim as though he's a girl.

Normally Jim would bristle at that, but he doesn't want to make the meal any more uncomfortable. Sebastian pushes in Jim's chair, handing him a serviette for his lap, and then steps around to seat himself. A server in a thick, expensive-looking shirt places menus before them and disappears.

Jim swallows at the sesquipedalian notations on the menu under the foreign names, feeling utterly out of his depth, but Sebastian calmly orders for him. Again, like the man in the relationship, but Jim's more grateful than annoyed.

Their orders arrive quickly, the server giving Mrs Moran a sidelong look like he knows how rich and connected her husband is. There won't be any mistakes or oversights for this table, if the waiter wants to keep his job.

There is no degust about the woman's eating habits, which Jim feels is a waste because the food merits savouring. “I haven't heard much tell of your Bacchanalian behaviour recently,” she comments crisply to her son. “Too occupied with concupiscence?” 

“Doesn't that suit you?” the blond replies, not glancing up from his meal.

She gives him a cold look, and the pair continue to fence verbally for most of the meal. Jim shrinks back in his seat, relieved not to be the centre of attention.

And then Mrs Moran declares, “Enough blithering, Sebastian.” 

Sebastian looks up, then looks between his mother and lover quickly, as though he understands the comment as code. Ignoring her son's swift protests, the woman sends Sebastian away from the table on some errand and leans in ominously to warn Jim, “I may well be the worst mother in the world according to Bastian, he's no stranger to embellishment and calumny, but if you hurt him you and I will have a very serious problem.” 

Jim is a little relieved to see some inkling of maternal care from Mrs Moran, but he can't help the cool taunt that breaks from his lips, “What if he likes it?” 

She reaches around swiftly and twists his ear. “Hold the thrill in your water, you wicked little rogue, and do not presume to comport yourself thus before me.” 

Sebastian notices, swooping back to the table and dumping a jug of water on the table heavily enough that it slops over the edges of the crystal.

“He's definitely one of yours,” Mrs Moran sneers, letting Jim sit back down.

“What do you mean by that?” Sebastian asks icily, dropping a protective, possessive hand on Jim's shoulder.

“He's got a tongue like yours,” Mrs Moran sighs haughtily.

Sebastian's lips twitch as he spares Jim a glance. “Surely you realised he's more to me than a mere receptacle for unwanted Moran seed?”

She gives him a cold look. “You might have grown, Sebastian, but you are certainly not to old for me to wash your wicked mouth out in front of your little friend.”

“He's my _lover_ , Mother,” Sebastian states.

“Dear God, Bastian, we all know that, but you need hardly be so blatant. Show some propriety. You're a _Moran_ for Christ's sake.”

“Since when?” Sebastian scoffs.

“Oh, don't start, child,” she sighs, snapping her fingers for service without looking around. Their server hurries over.

“The bill, please,” she orders.

The man nods and scurries away, swiftly returning with a piece of embossed, padded leather in which their receipt is swaddled.

“I'll get that,” Sebastian offers, glad of the escape.

Mrs Moran snatches it. “Don't be silly; I invited you both.”

“Mother, that's hardly gentlemanly.”

“Sit down Sebastian.”

“Let's split it then,” the blond suggests.

His mother sighs. “If we must. Let me get my phone for the calculator...”

Jim gives the receipt a quick glance and informs them of the split.

Sebastian stares until Jim looks away. “Being good at maths is hardly something I'd brag about,” he sniffs.

“Oh, this I need to see,” Mrs Moran comments, raising a brow. “Impress me, boy.”

Jim tries to ignore his irritation. “Well, you're responsible for Sebastian so you must be good at puzzles,” he murmurs, and he swipes up the pen by the bill and scribbles down an equation on the back. “How is this a limerick?” Jim asks.

Mrs Moran stares at it dubiously. “Bastian, what chicanery is this from your sylphlike, little con artist?” 

Sebastian picks up the paper and frowns at it. Jim's eyes sparkle. Sebastian flops the paper down and shrugs. “I don't even understand the question.”

Mrs Moran's lips twitch. “I can see the investment in your schooling paid off.”

Sebastian snorts. He turns to Jim. “Alright, stop making my brain hurt. Solve it.”

Jim moves the receipt around to be clearly visible to both and runs his finger over the equation as he explains, “A dozen, a gross, and a score / Plus three times the square root of four / Divided by seven / Plus five times eleven / Is nine squared and not a bit more.”

Mrs Moran laughs aloud. “Dear Lord, Sebastian, I think you might have bedded yourself someone who can _count_.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, which is a new expression on his face to his mother. “So now it's fine to admit that we're fucking?”

Mrs Moran picks up a clean fork from the table behind her and firmly raps her son's knuckles with it. “Buncombe. Let me disabuse you from any notion of that,” she scolds. “We will have decorum in this family, my dear wretch.”

Sebastian puts his stinging knuckles in his mouth and sucks, surprised when she doesn't swat his hand down.

She gives him a dry, amused look. “Will you ever grow up?”

“Why would I want to do that?” he grumbles.

She sighs and reaches for her purse, pulling out the amount suggested by Jim earlier. “Perhaps because if anything happens to your twin everything will go to _Jasper_ and I will box your ears bloody for it.”

Sebastian blinks. It has always seemed a joke to Sebastian that Sir Augustus strives to ensure his name (and legal line) appear august, but he's never once heard his mother talk like that. Like she just acknowledged Sebastian's suspicions.

“There's not much point in anything going to me,” Sebastian points out. “It's not like I'm going to carry on the line.”

“The gays can parent now, haven't you heard? You shouldn't find it difficult to put your seed in some silly girl and have us pay her off.”

“Mother!” Sebastian hisses.

She gives him an arch look. “If you want one or several of your _croí's_ offspring in addition your father can hardly protest,” Mrs Moran states, then she sweeps to her feet. She kisses Jim on the cheek, making him freeze.

“Nice to meet you James,” she states. Jim squeaks a response.

The woman circles around to her son, who stands. “Keep out of trouble,” she warns, then she kisses his cheek too, and is gone.

Sebastian drops money on the table and leans over to Jim. “I am so sorry,” the blond utters. 

Jim tries to snort, smoothing down his suit and placing his serviette on the table. “She does know we've only been dating for like a month, right?” 

Sebastian flashes a brilliant, slightly teasing grin. “We're dating?” 

Jim sighs and steps away from the table, doing his best to pretend heat isn't rushing up his cheeks. “What else would you call it?”

Sebastian's lips twitch, and he doesn't care that his mother will kill him for ruining their reputation in such surroundings. He presses a brief, firm kiss to Jim's lips. “I'd call it perfect.”

Jim bats him away, scowling and blushing. “People can see.”

“Do you see the breadth of my shoulders?” Sebastian asks dryly. “No one's going to complain to our faces.”

Jim rolls his eyes but picks up the tab and carries it to their server, who nods politely.

Sebastian puts an arm on Jim's shoulder and follows him outside.

“Sebastian?” Jim asks. “Did your mother call me your _heart_?”

Sebastian considers. It's not the sort of thing she would usually say, and certainly not without sarcasm. Perhaps she can also see what Sebastian has suspicions of. He shrugs, and hopes Jim doesn't understand as he mutters, “Tá tú grá mo shaol.”

“Mo laoch,” Jim responds, and then he's darting away, his jacket swinging under his arm, and laughing at the colour of Sebastian's cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's probably been a dozen years since I've written anything in Irish Gaelic, so it's entirely possible that I have the grammar and accents and 'H's in the wrong place. If your language skills are less rusty than mine, feel free to correct me.
> 
> Croí = heart  
> Tá tú grá mo shaol = You are the love of my life  
> Mo laoch = My hunter / hero


	34. Specialisms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, Jim and Seb torture someone later in this chapter, but I think I've managed to keep it from being too dark. Proceed with caution if you're squicky about eyes or digits though.
> 
> Language notes at the bottom.

Sebastian picks up his phone and smiles. “Hey Articus Moran?”

Jim blinks and grins, wriggling over to rest his chin on Sebastian. Sebastian wouldn't be smiling like that if it was bad news. “Mmm?”

Sebastian shows him the phone screen. “Both of us are in the clear.”

Jim lets his shoulders sag in relief.

Sebastian tuts and tilts Jim's chin. “Were you that worried?”

Jim squirms gently. “Shut up.”

Sebastian gives Jim a fond smile and pulls the brunet closer. “Didn't I tell you that you didn't need to worry? That we'd look after each other, worst case scenario?”

Jim bites his lip.

“You were doubting me?” Sebastian growls playfully under Jim's jawline.

Jim chuckles and pulls away just enough for the pale stubble not to scratch his skin. He feels safe in Sebastian's arms.

The blond dips his head further to nip Jim's chest gently with his teeth. “That's not an answer, pet.”

Jim rolls his eyes and bashes his cheek against Sebastian. “Of _course_ I was nervous.”

“ _Why_?” Sebastian asks indignantly.

Jim frowns. “What if I'd gotten you sick?”

Sebastian sits up a bit more to look Jim in the eyes. “We're both big boys, love. It wouldn't have been the end of the world.”

 _Love_.

Jim bites his lip again. “I don't want you hurt,” he grumbles.

Sebastian crooks a smile. “Baby, I'm not a China doll, I promise.”

Jim stiffens. “And I am?” he asks coolly.

“Oh no,” Sebastian warns, holding Jim closer, “you are _not_ doing that twisting my words thing again.”

Jim rolls his eyes and pulls away. “So now I'm irrational.”

“Hey,” Sebastian protests, “a stóirín...”

Jim freezes. “Maoth,” he mutters, softening.

Sebastian smiles and brushes his fingers over Jim's face. “A ansa.”

“Stop a chur leis,” Jim says mildly, pulling back a little.

Sebastian blinks. “What? Why?”

“Bein' soppy,” Jim complains, not seeming to notice his accent is stronger than usual.

Sebastian kisses him. “I thought we had established that I'm the soppy one and you're the brains?”

“I'm not a girl, ye know, I don't need aw that-”

“I _know_ you're not a girl,” Sebastian points out. “I don't _like_ girls much.”

“Sounded like ye had plenty when you was younger,” Jim mutters.

Sebastian gives him a look that isn't proud. “That had a lot more to do with being a bad little lad than you know… feelings.”

“Sure ye bejaxed that,” Jim mutters, and then he noticed the way Sebastian is looking at him. Breathing slowly. 

“ _What_?” Jim demands.

Sebastian raises a smile, his gaze heated. “You don't even notice you're doing it, do you?”

Jim's eyes narrow. “Doin' wha-” Then he hears himself. He sighs and straightens out his posture, silent for a beat, and when he talks his accent is muted again, a whisper of its stronger self. “Well what do you expect? Talking to me like that?” he mutters, sounding a little uncomfortable.

“I didn't ask you to stop,” Sebastian complains.

“Go _way_ outta that,” Jim warns mildly, almost playful.

“I was enjoying listening to you,” Sebastian protests.

Jim rolls his eyes. “Fuck off, you are _not_ fetishising how I talk.”

“But I was!” Sebastian responds. “I don't want you to stop.”

“Piss off,” Jim mutters, his cheeks a little red.

Sebastian huffs but sits back. “Fine,” he says, sounding deeply put out.

Jim eyes him. “Seriously?”

“Seriously what?” Sebastian grumbles.

Jim draws his eyes pointedly to the flesh straining against Sebastian's trousers.

“Doesn't usually bother you,” Sebastian sighs, but he tugs a cushion over his lap.

“It's normally mutual,” Jim says, sounding more puzzled than annoyed.

“You sounded like you were in your own skin, instead of overthinking everything you say,” Sebastian shrugged.

“My accent's horrible,” Jim protests.

“It's really not,” Sebastian says with certainty.

Jim presses his lips together. Every bigger boy in every area he'd grown up in certainly had a problem with it.

“It's me, Jim,” Sebastian points out. “Is there a part of you that doesn't make me happy?”

Jim's lips twitch. “My self-destructive streak?”

“Well, it keeps things interesting,” Sebastian points out.

Jim snorts, but he leans forwards for a brief kiss. Sebastian's expression softens and he wraps an arm around Jim's lower back, coaxing him close.

And then one of the phones bleeps loudly.

Sebastian sighs. “Fuck off, I just want my arse dripping with cum today,” he grumbles, rooting around for the appropriate phone. Work.

“Excuse you?” Jim questions, smirking.

Sebastian bites his lip, not looking at the phone. “Well we're both clean, aren't we? No reason not to, now.”

“You're disgusting,” Jim says, sounding amused. “You said it was uncomfortable.”

“It is, but it's good too,” Sebastian mumbles. “S'warm. Intimate.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “Work first, you slut.”

The corners of Sebastian's lips twitch, then he finally wakes the phone's screen and reads the text.

“Should I get a jumper?” Jim asks.

Sebastian is unusually reluctant. “This is more… specialist work.” 

Jim raises a brow. “You are a specialist.” 

Sebastian swallows. “This… is a different type of speciality.” 

“I'm listening,” Jim says.

Sebastian runs his hand through his hair. “Like a… hurting people, speciality. Hurting people rather a lot.”

“Fighting or torturing?” Jim asks calmly.

“The second one.”

“Can I watch?” Jim asks huskily.

Sebastian considers. Tonight's employer is particularly hands off, mostly leaving the men to run themselves. And Sebastian's already built enough of a reputation that his colleagues leave him damn well alone.

“Should be alright,” Sebastian muses. “But if you're sick you'll have to clean it up yourself, because I'll be _busy_.”

Jim's lips twitch. “Trust me, Seb, I've got a strong stomach.”

Sebastian purses his lips, but then he's standing and saying, “Alright then, let's get you dressed.”

Jim's filled out enough that he can just about keep up a pair of Sebastian's dark jeans with a belt. Sebastian gives him a kiss and folds him into a long-sleeved black shirt. Blood would show starkly on Jim's vampire skin, but the dark fabric should camouflage it. 

Then he's bundling Jim up for the brisk outdoors and they're making their way to Sebastian's armoury.

Jim is buzzing with a dark sort of excitement and Sebastian is having to concentrate hard on keeping the blood from diverting to his own groin. Right, focus. Work. Sebastian swallows again and fetches some of his hunting knives, cocooned happily in a briefcase waiting for their next outing.

It's easy enough to get Jim through the apathetic security, the teen carrying the briefcase that the other men recognise.

Jim seems completely unfazed about walking into a room to find a man strapped to a chair with a bag over his head. Sebastian gives the brunet a considering look then takes the briefcase. He sets it down on a table and opens it.

Jim's face lights up. “Let me help,” he urges quietly.

Sebastian's lips quirk. “Let's see how strong your stomach is first.”

He steps around and starts to beat the restrained man heavily with his scarred fists, playing close attention out of the corner of his eye to how Jim reacts to the noises of pain and human insides breaking.

Jim is still; his expression rapt.

“How are you with severed digits?” Sebastian asks.

It's hard to tell in the poor lighting, but Jim might just be fucking hard. “Can I?”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, tells himself firmly that this isn't the time for a heated kiss, and leans behind the seated man. The blond adjusts his bindings, freeing one hand, and ignores the panicked noises as he places the hand down on the cool surface of the table.

Sebastian indicates a particular knife with his eyes. “That one will go through bone if you miss the joint.”

Jim approaches quickly, picking up the knife as though its weight is a familiar presence in his grasp.

“Everyone has a pressure point… someone they want to protect,” Sebastian states, holding his weight against the arm beneath his to ease the horrified thrashing. Sebastian meets Jim's eyes silently. The words stick with Jim, because something in the way Sebastian speaks suggests that Jim is his. 

Sebastian draws his gaze to the bound man's wedding finger. “He's got three daughters. We're sending that to his wife, and if she doesn't start behaving herself, we'll be sending her bits of their girls.”

If Sebastian had expected Jim to grow a conscience he is wrong. Jim draws the knife thoughtfully over the line of the knuckle, utterly unfazed by the shouting.

Sebastian adjusts the placement ever so, then smiles. Nods.

The SCREAM seems to amuse Jim in an odd sort of way, and he doesn't mind all the blood.

“Do you want to play with him?” Sebastian asks.

“Slow and methodical or haphazard and brutal?” Jim asks. 

“Either, but I'll stop you if you get to close to killing him. He's still got some uses yet.”

There is a dark ebullience to Sebastian's expression as he explains, “I find it efficient to...” He trails off. “What?”

“Not my first rodeo,” Jim smiles.

Sebastian lips quirk. “No, it's not is it? Aright, what do you like to do?” 

“I tend to go for the eyes,” Jim responds calmly. 

Sebastian stares, then turns back to their prey. “I'd normally leave them until later but Christ go ahead.”

More screaming, but Sebastian and Jim are smiling almost shyly at each other, their pupils blown.

Their victim is mostly perforated by the time they're both done.

“You need a shower,” Sebastian states softly, packing up.

“Agus is gá duit a bheith gnéas.”

Sebastian rolls his dilated eyes. “Dúil mo bod.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A stóirín = my little darling (well technically 'mo' is mine, but 'a' is direct address… IDK I'm rusty...)  
> Maoth = silly / sentimental  
> A ansa = dear one / difficult one  
> Stop a chur leis = stop it  
> Agus is gá duit a bheith gnéas = and you need to have sex (pretty sure I fucked the grammar on that one)  
> Dúil mo bod = suck my dick


	35. Christmas Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story's almost complete and I can't deal with those feels...

Sebastian and Jim fuck heatedly in the armoury, and continue in the shower until long after the water has run cold. Jim thinks they might actually spend the night, but then Sebastian is rousing him gently.

“Come on, love, you'll be comfier in our bed.”

Our bed. That makes Jim smile enough that he actually gets up without complaint and lets Sebastian help him back into dirty clothes.

By the time Sebastian gets the brunet back to Mayfair Jim can barely keep his eyes open. He hardly makes a squeak as Sebastian picks him up and carries him partway along Conduit Street to their home.

Sebastian peels Jim out of the bloodied clothing and tucks him into bed, amused that the brunet is asleep before his head even reaches the pillow.

Sebastian runs a hand through his hair. He's tired too, but there's an errand he wants to run before Jim wakes up.

Sebastian changes quickly and reluctantly heads back out into the night while Jim sleeps deeply in their bed.

Jim barely stirs when Sebastian returns, merely making a sleepy protest at the chill of Sebastian's ordinarily warm body and wrapping his fingers in the blond's teeshirt anyway.

The brunet rises first, surprised when sitting up does not rouse Sebastian. Jim frowns and reaches out to check Sebastian's forehead.

No fever.

Jim eases out of bed, crossing his arms at the December chill, and tucks the duvet closer around Sebastian. The brunet pads across the room to pull on some clothes. They're cold to the touch as well, but Jim tolerates their wear.

It concerns Jim that Sebastian is sleeping unusually soundly, but it's also the first opportunity Jim has had to slink out of bed without Sebastian's big, warm arms reaching for him.

It's about time Jim made Sebastian breakfast for once.

Jim treads downstairs softly then freezes.

Sebastian's put up Christmas lights. Everywhere. Around the windows and under the kitchen cabinets and around the coffee table…

And there's a tree. A small fibre optic tree, but a Christmas tree all the same.

And there's a smell. Like cinnamon.

The apartment had been distinctly unfestive last night when Sebastian carried Jim to bed.

Jim bites his lip, feeling another surge of affection for the blond, and gets started on the food. Jim's watched Sebastian make porridge enough times that he manages a fair approximation of its usual consistency.

Sebastian's stocked up on various other things too. Jim considers for a moment then decisively drops apple sauce, brown sugar and cinnamon into their warm breakfasts.

He's a little surprised that Sebastian hasn't woken from the smell or sound of Jim walking around the kitchen, but it seems he has had a very late night.

Jim makes up some of that strange, spiced, Mexican hot chocolate Sebastian likes (because it is bloody, bloody cold this morning) and hunts around until he finds where Sebastian has left the tray.

Jim stacks it carefully and carries everything upstairs slowly.

Sebastian is _still_ asleep.

Jim places the tray down carefully on his own bedside table, where Sebastian won't accidentally knock it over, and hops back onto the bed.

“Sebby?”

Sebastian mumbles something in a language that doesn't even sound European.

Might be best to let him sleep. Jim snuggles down and lifts his warm bowl, hoping sleeping Sebastian isn't clumsy enough to upturn it.

Sebastian wriggles closer, eyes still closed, but nostrils twitching.

Jim grins. “Oh, you do want breakfast after all, do you?” he asks, rubbing Sebastian's hair.

The blond blinks sleepily, frowning in confusion at the bowl and the strong smell of hot food.

“Jim?” he mumbles questioningly.

“You want breakfast?” the brunet asks kindly.

Sebastian rubs his eyes and sits up slowly, wincing. “S'cold,” he states.

“Food's warm,” Jim responds.

“Oh,” Sebastian blinks. “'Kay.” He reaches out to accept his breakfast, then frowns again, his brain kicking in. “You made _breakfast_?”

“You haven't tasted it yet,” Jim mutters self-deprecatingly.

Sebastian rubs his face again, trying to become more alert. “Why did you make breakfast? What time is it?”

“Relax, it's still morning,” Jim responds. “You were tired.”

“I asked you to make breakfast?” Sebastian asks dubiously.

“No, you were out cold,” Jim explains. He hands Sebastian a bowl and spoon. “Eat before it gets freezing.”

Sebastian accepts them dubiously. “I always make breakfast.”

“Yes, but you were tired,” Jim repeats patiently.

“Should have just kicked me out of bed,” Sebastian mumbles, but then he makes a happy noise as his spoon passes his lips.

Jim's own lips quirk. “Edible?”

“Glorious,” Sebastian grins, leaning over carefully to peck Jim's pink cheek.

“Don't get used to it,” Jim mumbles.

Sebastian smiles, rolling his eyes sleepily. “It's appreciated. Thank you.”

“It's only breakfast,” Jim mutters. “You make it every day.”

“Yes, which means you didn't have to. So thank you.”

Jim rolls his eyes and slides down further under the covers, but smiles a little into his porridge.

“Love you,” Sebastian says mildly.

Jim stills. There was nothing shrouding that. “Jesus, I just made you porridge, Basher.”

“Wasn't about the food,” Sebastian states.

Jim shakes his head, muttering, “Fag,” half under his breath, but scoots closer until his hip is against Sebastian's.

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “My cock in your arse wasn't a big enough clue?”

“Prick,” Jim mutters, but he shoves his bowl aside and snuggles under Sebastian's arm.

Sebastian kisses the scar from the table edge. “Don't think that because you've finished yours that I'm sharing.”

Jim laughs softly. “Just keeping you warm.”

Sebastian leans around and kisses Jim's temple. “Well thank you, pet.”

Jim gives him a warning look and Sebastian chuckles lightly, moving the remainder of his winter porridge out of the way.

They spend most of the morning in bed, sipping hot chocolate and talking quietly to each other. Sebastian pulls Jim onto his lap.

“Are you happy, love?”

Jim's lips twitch. “Stop being gay.”

Sebastian raises his brows patiently.

“...Yes,” Jim sighs, hiding his face in Sebastian's shoulder after a moment. “Very.”

Sebastian gently tugs the back of Jim's scalp until the brunet's face is exposed for a kiss. Jim grins into the contact.

Then he stiffens a little. Pulls away. “You're happy though? Right?”

Sebastian brushes Jim's face gently and intently holds his dark gaze. “Yes. Very much so.”

“Good,” Jim mutters.

“Come here you soppy thing,” Sebastian smirks.

Jim glares, but makes no resistance to the strong arms pulling him closer. Sebastian kisses his jaw just beneath the ear.

Jim brings his teeth to Sebastian's throat.

“Ouch, that'll mark, you fucker,” Sebastian chuckles.

“Mine,” Jim responds, not quite meeting Sebastian's gaze.

Sebastian rubs his tender throat. “Well obviously, you wild animal,” he responds.

“Don't you forget it,” Jim grumbles softly.

Sebastian laughs and crosses over his heart. “What, you want it in writing on my skin?”

Jim's lips twist in approval. “Capital letters.”

The blond rolls his eyes. “I'll see what I can do, brat.”

Jim blinks, pulling back again. “Don't even _think_ of putting your name on me.”

Sebastian grins wildly. “Aw, what?” he teases, trailing a large hand down to Jim's rear. “I think my initials would look spectacular _right here_.”

“I'd eat your liver,” Jim glowers.

Sebastian sighs, amused. “I guess I'd better feed you then. I reckon I need my liver.”

Jim rolls his eyes, but gets up easily enough. It's finally starting to get warm.

Sebastian smiles at Jim's form as he gets up. “You know, I could put the 'S' on one cheek and the 'M' on the other.”

Jim gives him a dry look. “And I could see how amusing you find it if I carved 'Property of Jim Moriarty' on your forehead.”

Sebastian's lips twist as he follows Jim downstairs. “We-ell maybe not on my _forehead_ ,” he replies playfully. His grin widens at Jim's startled expression.

Sebastian bites his lip upon seeing the state of their living area. He had been running on fumes last night and perhaps the decorations only look good whilst exhausted.

Jim's lips twitch. “They're alright,” he comments.

Sebastian smiles. “It is Christmas Eve.”

Jim turns around. “Is it?”

Sebastian hums in agreement. “I hope you've sent your letter off to Santa.”

Jim sniggers. “What could I possibly want that I don't already have?”

Sebastian tries to tone down his pleased look lest Jim add something scathing. Instead he teases, “Other than my hard prick up your arse as I bend you over the counter?”

Jim takes a step towards him but Sebastian laughs and bats the brunet away. “Dream on. _Lunch_.”

Jim rolls his eyes and hops onto the counter, muttering an insult. Sebastian kisses his cheek as he glides past Jim to get started on food.

“You're phone's going,” Jim comments. “Personal one.”

“Don't you dare answer it if it's my mother,” Sebastian warns sternly.

Jim gets up and looks for the phone, smirking.

Sebastian spins around. “Don't think I won't make you sleep on your belly on Christmas Eve, brat!”

Jim snorts. “You know the house rule: if you spank me you have to kiss me better. Win: win.”

Sebastian growls and stalks over, pulling Jim close and prying the phone from the little monster's grasp.

Sebastian checks the screen. Not his mother thankfully. Severin.

Sebastian leans down and swats Jim firmly, smirking as the brat squeals and giggles.

Tugging Jim over to the couch, Sebastian opens the text. 'Still alive, fucker.'

'Luv u 2 jarhead,' Sebastian types back idly. He peers at Jim, who still has a cheeky expression on his face. Sebastian smirks and leans over to spank Jim some more, laughing at how the younger man squirms and yelps in amusement.

“Bully!” Jim gasps.

“That's 'top dog' to you, twink,” Sebastian responds, eyes glittering at Jim's expression.

“Such an _arse_ ,” Jim grumbles. He gets up on his elbows and twists around to rub the seat of his tracksuit bottoms.

“That it is,” Sebastian responds, tapping Jim's bottom fondly. Jim rolls his eyes and squirms away, muttering darkly despite the love in his eyes.

Sebastian kisses those grumbling lips then glances at his phone as it lights up again.

'Christabelle said Mum was talking about your babies. Was she joking?'

'Mother took it upon herself to meet my,' Sebastian pauses, unsure what to call Jim. Fuck it, 'boyfriend and went into Grandma mode. Horrifying.' 

'Did boyfriend run?'

'Surprisingly brave. Think she likes him.'

'WHAT.'

'Not even joking.'

'We're going to talk about this later.'

Sebastian's lips twitch. He doesn't miss that. 'Your master calling?'

'Yeah.' Swiftly followed by, 'Fuck off, my CO.' And then radio silence.

Jim eyes Sebastian curiously.

“My brother,” Sebastian explains, drawing Jim close. “Now where were we?” The blond grins. “Ah yes, I was admiring this arse, wasn't I?”

Jim snickers but doesn't pull away. “You were about to _feed_ me.”

“Oh no, that sounds boring,” Sebastian teases, fingers gripping Jim's arse to pull him closer.

Jim tolerates the petting for a few minutes then gives Sebastian a stern look. “Kitchen, wench.”

Sebastian booms out a laugh. “Do you even deserve food?” But he gets up obediently.

“Less backchat, more pampering me,” Jim sighs, stretching out on the couch.

Sebastian cackles and tugs Jim up by the wrist. “Oh no, now I know you can cook you don't get to just lie there looking fuckable.”

Jim gives him an indignant look but follows easily.

“Wash your hands and you can cut up these,” Sebastian orders, gesturing to some vegetables.

Jim raises his brows. “You're giving me an order and allowing me a knife in the same breath?”

Sebastian pats the brunet's bottom cheerfully. “Santa won't come if you stab me.”

Jim snorts, but then glances at the tree a little anxiously.

“Relax love, it's just a few little presents for my spoiled brat,” Sebastian says gently.

Jim nods but feels his stomach churn a little.

Sebastian rolls his eyes and tugs Jim closer by the waistband. “Smile, baby.”

Jim makes a face but accepts a kiss, and then they're cooking together.

“Want a drink with it?” Sebastian asks when their meal is ready. 

Jim looks up curiously. “What have you got?” 

“What haven't I got?” Sebastian mutters. Jim follows him to what turns out to be an enormous stash of alcohol. He gives Sebastian an incredulous look. 

“You didn't notice this was here?” Sebastian asks. 

Jim raises his brows at the closet alcoholic. “Never had a reason to go in there before.”

Sebastian's lips curl in surprise. “I left you alone for a week and you didn't bother to snoop?” 

Jim's lips twitch. “I didn't say I hadn't snooped, just that I hadn't bothered with your kitchen.”

Sebastian smiles, and peruses his collection. He picks out something that when opened has a biscotti sort of smell. “Try this. I'm not convinced it's got much vitamin E in it, but I guess it tastes Christmassy.” 

“Vitamin E?” Jim says dubiously. He thought Sebastian had relaxed on all that mothering. 

Sebastian ignores the brunet's skepticism. “Can't you smell the almonds? They should still have stress-relieving properties though.” 

Jim makes a face. “You do know I'm better now, right?” 

Sebastian kisses him softly. “I like looking after you.”

The next time they kiss, they both taste sweet, and they carry on drinking until they're giggling and switching on the Christmas lights to admire the twinkling.

Eventually Jim is biting his lip and realising that he's going to have to bring down Sebastian's presents before he can't manage the stairs.

“You need to close your eyes,” he tells Sebastian.

Sebastian gives him an interested look. “Tinsel leaves the worst rope burn, just throwing that out there.”

Jim snorts. “You're not on a promise.”

Sebastian pouts. “Why not? You've been grinding on my lap _all night_.”

Jim's lips quirk. “Alright, you might be on a promise, but you're not on a promise _yet_. Close your eyes.”

Sebastian sighs but mutters, “Yes Boss.” He obeys with a goofy grin, his cheeks flushed from alcohol and snogging.

Jim thunders upstairs and yanks open Sebastian's swimwear drawer. He smooths out the festive paper and shoves them under his jumper.

“Your eyes better be closed, Seb!” he calls as he rushes back down.

“You know I'm a good boy!” Sebastian responds cheerfully.

“Ha!” Jim scoffs, but he's pleased to see Sebastian is genuinely playing along.

Jim stuffs the presents under the tree and returns to Sebastian's lap. “Okay, _now_ you might be on a promise,” Jim declares.

Sebastian blinks as his eyes adjust to the lights again. He gives Jim a puzzled look before his eyes fall on the tree. He blinks stupidly.

“You got me presents.”

Jim brushes that scar on the back of his head. “Yeah.”

“When did you get me gifts? _How_ did you get me gifts?” Sebastian questions.

“Are presents really more interesting than fucking, Sebby?” Jim questions, crossing his arms like he's not feeling painfully shy.

Sebastian takes Jim's wrist and drifts towards the tree. “I have presents. From you.”

“How drunk are you?” Jim mutters.

Sebastian glances at him. “Less than you; I'm a lot bigger. But _presents_ Jim.”

Jim snorts. “You're a fucking child.”

Sebastian turns and gives Jim a very smug look. “You _love_ me.”

“Of course I…” Jim trails off. “Fucking come upstairs. And bring us both some water.”

Sebastian immediately fetches glasses, but he doesn't resist calling, “You bought me things because you love me!”

“Your window of opportunity for getting your cock sucked is _rapidly_ dwindling, Basher!”

Sebastian jogs up with the water, managing not to spill much. “That's okay, your _love_ will keep me warm.”

Jim raises his brows pointedly. “Do you want to _test_ that theory, smart arse?”

Sebastian bites his lip, his eyes still shining. “I'll get the lube, shall I?”

“Best be quick about it,” Jim retorts, his tone harsh but his eyes fond.


	36. Christmas Day

Jim is befuddled by sleep at first, only really aware of the glorious heat in the cocoon of covers, contrasting with the chill of air against his cheekbones. He burrows closer to Sebastian.

The blond chuckles, leaning down to warm Jim's face with soft kisses. “Are you sure you want a long lie this morning, love?”

Why would Jim possibly want to get out of their perfectly toasty bed? Into that horrid cold?

“You haven't forgotten, have you?” Sebastian teases.

“Forgotten what?” Jim asks sleepily.

Sebastian doesn't respond, just pressing his lips together and smiling. Jim reluctantly tugs himself onto his elbows to scrutinise the blond's face for further illumination.

Oh. Of course. The way Sebastian's icy blue eyes twinkle reminds Jim it is Christmas morning. 

“We should have set up the tree in here,” Jim says, pulling himself up to a sitting position and grimacing as the cold attacks his arms.

Sebastian rubs some heat into Jim. “You'd have peeked.”

“I would not,” Jim protests, although he's unsure whether that's true.

Sebastian gives him a disbelieving look. “Sure you wouldn't, brat. I'll go put the heating and the kettle on.”

“Heating is on,” Jim says sleepily. “Can't you hear it?”

Sebastian makes a disgruntled face. “Bloody winter.”

Jim smiles. “Get the kettle on anyway. I'll bring the duvet.”

Sebastian gives Jim a look and then laughs fondly. “Anything you want.”

“Obviously,” Jim teases, his voice still a little soft with sleep.

Sebastian gives him a kiss then stands, grimacing at the unforgiving chill. “Fucking England,” he mutters.

Jim slowly wriggles out of bed, tugging the quilt with him. “Where would you rather be?”

“Mumbai? Although you'd probably burn. Somewhere warmer than here, but mild enough that you don't divorce me,” Sebastian muses. He looks back at Jim and smiles. The brat has the duvet twisted around him like a cloak, and for all it's childish, Jim wears the expression of a king.

He's so bloody perfect.

“I've never been anywhere warm,” Jim drawls, managing to walk straight-backed and not trip a bit over the king size quilt.

Sebastian glances over his shoulder as he starts to descend the stairs. “Would you like to?”

Jim's eyes glint in consideration. “Possibly. But I do burn.”

“I'll keep you smothered in lotion,” Sebastian smiles.

Jim chuckles softly, traipsing regally behind. “Would you indeed?”

Sebastian makes a content noise of agreement, picturing Jim's glare above a nose white with sun cream.

Then inhales deeply. He loves how the apartment smells like cinnamon. One season at a time.

Probably take months to get Jim a passport anyway.

Jim drags the duvet to the couch, claiming it as his kingdom by swathing it in the cosy item.

Sebastian gives him a warm smile. “Presents or food first?”

Jim glances at the tree. Brows knot. “When did you..?”

“That was obviously Santa,” Sebastian responds, lips twitching.

“Santa,” Jim scoffs.

“I tried to tell him my brat only deserved coal, but..” Sebastian smiles and shrugs.

“Should have got you coal,” Jim sniffs.

“I am a very good boy,” Sebastian scoffs. 

“Santa lets you lie on Christmas Day, does he?” Jim drawls, brows raised.

“Clearly someone thinks I'm a good boy to spoil me,” Sebastian smiles smugly, indicating the presents Jim bought.

The brunet rolls his eyes. “Toast. Now. Please and thank you.”

Sebastian gives him a dubious look. “Toast is hardly-”

“Toast is quick,” Jim butts in. “That way I can take my pills and enjoy the morning with you instead of looking at the clock.”

Sebastian concedes. “You'll be getting elevenses,” he warns.

Jim smiles. “You're cooking.”

Sebastian is already walking over to the toaster but tosses over his shoulder, “If you're not careful, Arty, you'll be made to cut the Xs into the brussel sprouts.”

“People don't actually do that.”

“I'm not giving you frozen crap, Jim Moriarty. You will be eating proper, fresh, sprouts and absorbing all the iron and nutrients nature intended.”

Jim smiles, watching with a fond look as Sebastian fusses. “What if I don't like sprouts?”

“It's Christmas Day; you'll be eating sprouts if I have to handfeed you,” Sebastian retorts, jabbing a finger blindly at the couch as he reaches into a cupboard for peanut butter.

“I thought you were trying to discourage spoiling me?” Jim smirks.

Sebastian grabs a knife and stirs the contents of the jar. The organic peanut content is high enough that the oil always separates, not enough preservative crap in it to prevent the inconvenience. “I could take you out from under that blanket and make you stand frozen on the naughty step, love.”

“You wouldn't dare,” Jim says darkly, wrapping the duvet tighter around himself.

Sebastian smirks, lifting the toast as it pops and tossing it onto a plate before his fingers start to sting from the burn. “You really want to test what I would dare, pet?”

“Your presents can go out the window you know,” Jim responds, chin tilting playfully.

“Your toast will get cold if I have to come over there and bare your butt, Jim,” Sebastian teases.

Jim huffs out a sigh. “At least a smacking would keep me warm,” he grumbles.

Sebastian chuckles, quickly spreads peanut butter thickly on the toast and carries it over. “Here, this should warm you a little. You want milk or something hot to drink?”

Jim bites down and feels his mouth gum up instantly. “Warm milk,” he mumbles.

“Yes Kitten,” Sebastian smiles.

Jim throws a cushion at his back.

“Naughty step's still a possibility, brat,” Sebastian warns.

“Monster,” Jim retorts in between bites.

Sebastian carries over microwaved milk and painkillers. “I know, I am simply wicked to you, pet.”

Jim waits until the milk is safely on the coffee table then leans out of his cocoon enough to slap Sebastian's rump.

Sebastian laughs and catches Jim's wrist tightly, quickly moving the plate out of the way. “Really, pet?” he purrs.

Jim swallows. “Seb, don't you dare...”

Sebastian smirks and drags Jim out from the duvet into the cold.

“YOU'RE SUCH AN ARSE,” Jim howls.

Sebastian laughs. “You'll make Baby Jesus cry with language like that on a holy day,” he scolds.

“Oh fuck off,” Jim mumbles, wriggling without avail to break free. “I'm cold, Sebastian!”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, relenting, and pulls Jim into his chest, sharing his body heat as he wraps his large arms around the smaller frame.

Jim immediately tucks his head under Sebastian's chin. “We'd be warmer under the duvet.”

“I need to shake the crumbs out first,” Sebastian tells Jim's scalp.

Jim makes a face, stepping back reluctantly and crossing his arms to fend off the chilly air.

Sebastian complies quickly, then hurries Jim back under the cover. “Better?”

Jim reaches for his milk, smiling as his fingers heat up. “Yeah. Thanks Sebby.”

Sebastian leans over and kisses Jim's cheek. “I love you.”

Jim smiles softly to himself. “Merry Christmas, you cunt.”

Sebastian catches the drink and lightly cuffs the back of Jim's head. “Swine.”

Jim tugs the mug back cheerfully. “But you love me.”

“Oh I do,” Sebastian agrees, pressing a firm kiss into Jim's temple. Jim snuggles in.

“Take your damn medicine so we can get to the presents, can you?” Sebastian protests. “The anticipation is unbearable.”

“Relax; it's not like there's a diamond ring waiting on you over there,” Jim responds.

“Oh well now you've ruined the surprise,” Sebastian teases.

“There's no sperm samples for your mother either,” Jim adds.

Sebastian snickers with an expression of disgust. “Would you even know what to do with a kid?”

“No, but did yours? I bet they let the _staff_ raise you,” Jim replies.

“Like that's not apparent from the way I only know know fairy stories in native tongues,” Sebastian sneers, and then catches himself.

Jim kisses his ear. “I'll tell you them in English,” he whispers.

Sebastian gives him a soft smile and an interested look. “You grew up with fairy tales?”

“Not so much from my mother, she was… sick… a lot, but my gran… after my father was gone my gran would take me in a lot,” Jim confesses. “She told stories.”

Sebastian blinks. That's the most information he's ever heard about Jim's past.

Jim shifts, leaning forwards to take his painkillers. Sebastian understands the signal and doesn't push.

Jim closes his eyes, grounding himself in the scent of cinnamon and Sebastian. “So. You want to raid that tree?”

Sebastian smiles and dusts his lips over Jim's cheek. “You first.”

Jim opens his eyes and grins a little. “It's still cold out there. Bring them over.”

Sebastian snorts, already rising. “You're definitely going to be sore by the end of the day.”

Jim wriggles on his seat. “Counting on it.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes fondly but clears the table and carries over the gifts.

“This one first,” he states, holding one out. “If the day gets overwhelming at any point, you use that.”

Jim gives him a confused look and fumbles with the wrapping paper, realising that he's inexperienced in unwrapping.

He pulls away the paper and gazes at the smooth piece of durable wood. One of those toy guns with the sticker darts.

“You're not funny,” he snorts, pointing it at Sebastian's forehead.

“If you get overwhelmed, I said,” Sebastian responds.

Jim draws back the gun to lick the neon orange sucker then shoots it just above Sebastian's eyes, where it sticks to smooth skin.

“You are not overwhelmed,” Sebastian scolds, the dart wobbling as his brow moves.

Jim giggles, and chortles further as Sebastian darts forward and tickles his sides. “Stop it! Sebastian, I am, I am!”

“No, you're my naughty brat, and you're getting coal next year,” Sebastian retorts, pinning Jim and pushing the teen's legs up to lightly slap the back of Jim's thighs.

Jim laughs and thrashes. “Sebby, stop it!”

“'Stop it'?” Sebastian scoffs, the sucker falling away, “Maybe I should just bare this arse and take my Christmas present right now.”

Jim leans closer, breathing suddenly shallow. “Sebastian...”

Sebastian smirks and pulls away, tapping Jim's bottom mockingly before letting go of the spreading legs. “Then again, I don't think you've been a good enough boy to ride my cock.”

Jim takes a deep breath, pupils dark. “Are you serious?”

“Now who's laughing?” Sebastian asks sweetly.

Jim shoves him. Then punches Sebastian's arm for good measure. “You're not _funny_.”

“Be a good boy and I'll give you a good seeing to later, pet,” Sebastian smirks.

“I'm not even talking to you,” Jim retorts.

“Oh, but it's my turn to unwrap something,” Sebastian pouts playfully.

“You're getting nothing,” Jim growls.

Sebastian sighs. “Well, I'll just have to pick one myself,” he teases.

Jim jumps against Sebastian, bending him back against the arm of the couch. Sebastian permits it, gaze amused. “I'm going to leave you _raw_ ,” Jim snarls.

Sebastian holds his gaze. “Looking forwards to it, gorgeous.”

Jim gives him a surly look and pulls back. “You're such a pain in the arse.”

“Well later you can be a pain in my arse so we're even, no?” Sebastian comments.

“I'll be making your breakfast tomorrow because you won't be able to walk,” Jim promises viciously.

“What a waste there isn't a ring amongst this lot; I'd keep you after a comment like that,” Sebastian responds.

“You'd keep me anyway,” Jim sneers, startled after a moment to realise he believes the words.

“Well obviously,” Sebastian agrees, wrapping his arms around Jim's waist and pulling him close, “you're everything to me.”

“You mean that,” Jim mumbles.

“Yes,” Sebastian tells him firmly.

Jim takes a breath then reaches out and lifts a lot of colourful bags from the table, pouring them over Sebastian.

The blond jumps and laughs. “What are all of these?” He picks up a bag at random, his eyes lighting up at its contents.

“They're to keep your mouth occupied so it stays closed,” Jim scolds.

Sebastian laughs and kisses Jim's cheek. “Thank you baby. I'm sure that will strengthen our relationship wonderfully.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “You start calling me a chuisle do chroí or something again and I'm gonna punch you.”

Sebastian snorts, but bites down on anything clever. He picks up a large, squishy package. “Here, you unsentimental clod.”

Jim bites his lips.

“This is sort of a joint present,” Sebastian explains.

Jim looks at him, then slowly peels at the tape and unfolds the gift paper. Thick, black fabric split with a chunky white zipper.

Jim starts to pull it out, but it unravels larger than expected, and there's another underneath, a sheet of paper between them almost falling to the floor.

“You said I should have a onesie, and this is about as far as I'm willing to go. They should at least be warmer than what you're wearing,” Sebastian murmurs.

Jim looks at him, then at the twin onesies, his obviously a lot smaller than Sebastian's underneath. “Like a couple,” Jim says.

Sebastian nods. “What, now you don't shoot me?” he asks, lips curling a little.

“Later; I'm still processing,” Jim retorts, running a reverent hand down the cozy sweatshirt fabric and trying not to look overly affected.

No one's ever wanted to look associated with him before.

Jim glances at the sheet of transfer paper. Letters.

“I wasn't sure if you wanted our names on the back, so I got iron-on transfers you can chose yourself,” Sebastian explains quietly. “I didn't want to pick the wrong nickname and embarrass you.”

Jim presses his lips together, squeezing his onesie in his hands. Thick, lined in fleece. His. Theirs.

“Jim?” Sebastian asks.

Jim stands, yanking off his pajamas and stepping into his onesie instead. He zips it up without a word. Doesn't trust his voice.

“Good?” Sebastian questions.

Jim holds out the partner. Sebastian snorts very softly and accepts, pulling it over his boxers and teeshirt.

“There. Happy?” Sebastian says.

Jim nods heavily.

“Christ, you're not going to cry, are you?” Sebastian murmurs.

Jim punches his shoulder. 

Sebastian grins. “Should I open something while you look for your voice?”

Jim glares as though he wants to snap back, but leans over and picks the neatly wrapped Hamleys gift from the table. He starts to hand it to Sebastian then pulls back and shakes his head.

Sebastian watches in bemusement as Jim gets up and retrieves Tibbles. Positions the kitten on the table facing them.

Reluctantly hands Sebastian the parcel.

The blond gazes at the neat presentation and considers the amount of give underneath the thick paper. 

Opens quickly to expose orange and black fur. Sebastian pulls the tiger from the wrapping, chuckling and wondering when he last felt his chest burn with pleasure over a stuffed toy.

Then blinks, noting the tiger's eyes are his exact shade of blue.

“Makes more sense as a pair,” Jim mutters huskily.

Sebastian glances over at him, picking up the cat and holding the two toys together. “Yeah. We do,” he states.

Jim looks around quickly, then bows his head. A smile spreads over his face.

“Do I get a kiss?” Sebastian asks.

Jim nods, not moving. Sebastian lifts Jim's chin and kisses him softly. Jim leans in eagerly then pulls away, smiling awkwardly.

Sebastian sits back, rubbing Jim's hair fondly. “So. The tiger got a name?”

“Stupid Face,” Jim mumbles.

Sebastian snorts. “No, brat.”

“Stripes?”

“Stripes,” Sebastian accepts, gazing at the ridiculous, wonderful pair. He sets them on the table carefully.

“They can't feel, you know,” Jim mocks.

“Hush,” Sebastian responds.

They stare at the last gift on the table.

“You want your big gift?” Sebastian asks.

“Thought you were my big gift?” Jim mutters.

Sebastian snorts. “No; I'm your best gift.”

“Maybe,” Jim concedes.

Solemnly, Sebastian permits Jim to open the tantalising present remaining: a hunting knife. 

Jim regards it with awe. Enormous; expensive; engraved with his initials. _Specially for him_.

Sebastian shivers as the brunette handles the weapon. Jim's eyes glitter predatorily giving Sebastian the feeling Jim is going to be a lethal force in the future, more frightening than Sebastian already knows. 

“I'd already bought it by then, but… I thought you could do that thing we talked about with it,” Sebastian says.

Jim feels his pulse race. “What?”

Sebastian swallows, and looks embarrassed as he crosses his fingers over his chest. Over his heart.

Jim stares at him, eyes wide and lips quivering. “Are you serious?”

Sebastian nods soberly.

“It'll hurt,” Jim says a little stupidly.

“As long as it scars,” Sebastian says.

Jim nods. Strokes the blade then reaches up and grabs the back of Sebastian's head, pulling the blond down for a fierce kiss.

Both are smiling when they eventually pull apart. Jim swallows. “I love you, you know,” he confesses.

Sebastian's eyes shine. “I know, love. I love you too.”

Jim smiles, then his gaze drifts to Sebastian's strong chest. The brunet pictures his initials over Sebastian's heart. Perhaps his whole name.

“What did I do to deserve you?” Jim whispers.

Sebastian's lips twist. “Something wicked, probably.”

Jim shakes his head. “You're the best thing I've ever had,” he says honestly.

Sebastian's face softens. He pulls Jim onto his lap and states gruffly, “You're mine; I'm keeping you.”

“Good,” Jim responds, and instead of elevenses he is pulling at his clothes and Sebastian's, undressing them both eagerly.

They fuck hard, and then tender, and then hard again, until they both feel tender. It's the best Christmas either can remember.

They shower and then dress again in their matching outfits. Jim keeps clutching at his onesie, glowering at Sebastian's smile. “Get us a tiger and a cat pair next year and I'll kill you.”

Sebastian cackles but makes no promises, returning to the kitchen to start preparing Christmas dinner.

He hesitates. “I, uh, wasn't sure how you felt about Christmas, whether you'd have any bad connotations about the usual turkey and stuff, so I got goose.” 

Jim smiles softly and shrugs. “Anything's good. Christmas wasn't really a thing for us…. Gran would take me to Midnight Mass sometimes.”

“I fucking hated Christmas at home,” Sebastian says as he works. “Never got homesick on tour.” He looks up over his shoulder and smiles fondly. “Today's been the best though.”

Jim walks up behind him and wraps his arms around Sebastian's waist. “Because of you.”

“Because of us,” Sebastian responds with certainty.

Jim smiles. “Yeah.”

Sebastian turns and ruffles Jim's messy hair. “Come on you, make yourself useful. I trust you with the veg.”

“Even the brussels?” Jim smirks.

Sebastian snorts. “No; you'll cut your tiny fingers. But you can manage carrots.”

Jim rolls his eyes, but enjoys the process of cooking with Sebastian. It's odd making a festive meal together. Like they're the sort of people with something with something worth celebrating.

Which they _are_.

Jim is somewhat dazed when they finally sit down to eat the lavish meal. This is real life. He is having Christmas dinner with his frighteningly perfect lover in their home and nothing's going wrong.

Haven't even undercooked the goose.

It's perfect.

Sebastian smiles the whole time like he can read Jim's thoughts. Jim finds he doesn't mind.

“Christmas movies or music?” Sebastian asks afterwards.

“Anything,” Jim says. “I just want to lie in a food coma with you.”

Sebastian flashes him a smile. “Likewise.”

They pile together on the couch, snuggling close, and they quickly snooze together, Sebastian's fingers still wrapped in Jim's soft hair.

They get up leisurely, and Jim is vastly amused as Sebastian sets out fat, festive-scented candles to mingle with the perfume of cinnamon.

“Fucking candles? Really?” Jim teases. 

Sebastian glares mildly. “Shut up, it's Christmas.” 

“Did you think this would be romantic?” Jim mocks.

“Did I say they were for _your_ benefit?” Sebastian retorts. “I like candles.”

Jim rolls his eyes but sits back and watches as Sebastian used the tiger lighter. Jim doesn't mind. Cinnamon might have become his favourite scent other than Sebastian himself.

“Get over here,” Jim orders.

Sebastian fixes him with a loving smile. “Táim ag teacht, leannán.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse me whilst I cry for the foreseeable future over this ending. 
> 
> And then I'll start posting the sequel.
> 
>  
> 
> Chuisle do chroí = pulse of your heart / your heart's beloved  
> Táim ag teacht = I'm coming, lover.


End file.
